A Woman Scorned
by austenhomegirl
Summary: Every woman wants Mr. Darcy. But Josephine will stop at nothing. One woman's campaign becomes the ultimate test of E&D's love...spooky & angsty, but actually pretty funny too, so this would also be in the humor category if I could add a third. Rated M for sexual content, suspense, & occasional language.
1. Prologue

**A/N:** I have had this plot bunny in my head for some time now, and I'm so excited to finally start posting. I hope you will enjoy this story as much as I'm going to love writing it. I have gone ahead and posted this prologue as well as the first 6 chapters as they are already done and I'm _no bueno _at withholding. Besides, I'll be wrapped up in finals for a couple of weeks so I figure that's plenty to tide you guys over till I can post again. It might start off kind of slow, but it improves and gets funnier, I promise. Also, the entire thing is _not _just from Josephine's viewpoint, but from Darcy and Lizzy's too and even occasionally other canon characters. So don't get disinterested and leave after the prologue, lol.

As always, I don't own Pride and Prejudice or any of the characters, etc., etc. That out of the way, meet Josephine. Enjoy. :)

* * *

"_It is amazing how complete is the delusion that beauty is goodness." ― _Leo Tolstoy, _The Kreutzer Sonata_

Prologue

Fourteen year-old Josephine Eva Chadwicke turned her face up into the summer sun as it shone down upon her from a cloudless sky. She had discarded her parasol several minutes ago in favor of the lovely warm rays. She knew her mother would be most displeased with her for being so careless with her delicate white skin, but for the moment it was too delicious a sensation to resist. In fact, her mother's displeasure made the activity that much more appealing. She smirked. _After all, it is so _very_ amusing when she gets angry. Most particularly when she can do nothing about it. _

Pursing her lips to suppress an indelicate scoff, she looked down and daintily picked a bit of lint from her ruffled, perfectly pressed gown. She was sitting upon a blanket by the pond at Twinsdale, the Fitzwilliam estate in Matlock. Winston Fitzwilliam was the Earl of Matlock and her uncle by marriage. His wife, Eleanor Fitzwilliam (née Chadwicke) was Josephine's blood aunt. Her _favorite_ aunt. This preference had been birthed at an early age, around the time Josephine discovered Lady Matlock to be the most fashionable of her relations – and the most fawning.

Lady Eleanor had no daughters. She looked upon Josephine as a substitute for what she lacked. When Josephine was sweet and doting (which she _always_ took care to be), so was her aunt. Over the years her calculations had earned Josephine extravagant shopping trips, visits to the seaside and even a beautiful Shetland pony. She received each and every luxury with a great show of gratitude and humility. It was what kept the gifts coming.

Josephine's cunning was not entirely to blame for her aunt's proclivity to shower her with gifts; after all, she was only one of many disposed to do the same. The girl was just so _angelic_-looking. Her honey-colored hair fell into natural, luscious ringlets, setting off her wide, ocean-colored eyes. Her skin was as white and effervescent as snow. Her smile was ethereal, gracing a pair of pretty pink lips which sat below a pleasing button nose. Such a beatific countenance melted the hearts of any sighted person and inclined them to think well of her. Josephine was only too aware of this. Her beauty was her greatest ally.

With a yawn, she looked around her. The lawn was dotted with blankets. Some were occupied, but most were abandoned. People had wandered off to enjoy different diversions. These people were mostly Josephine's family; the _whole_ family. They had all come together to enjoy a picnic earlier in the day. The picnic was just one of many activities planned for their amusement over a weeks' time, in honor of her cousin Richard. He had just finished his education at Cambridge and was preparing to leave for his tour of the Continent (or as much of the Continent as was safe to tour what with the war on). In true, decadent Fitzwilliam style, his parents wished to give him a proper send-off. Ergo, the gathering of relatives.

To celebrate for her cousin was the theoretical reason Josephine was there. But the truth was she didn't give a fiddler's fart if Richard was going abroad. She was more diverted by her other relatives, many of whom she had never met before. New relatives meant new people to charm. She smiled coyly. Nothing amused her more than casting the net of her considerable allure and watching as people fell at her feet one-by-one. It was just too gratifying!

Her smile gave way to a delicate, displeased sigh; at least, it was _usually_ gratifying. But such a diversion was only fun when _everyone_ she met with came to adore her. That had not been the case this week. Oh, she had charmed almost everybody. But there was one who had not yet submitted. And he was the one whose adulations she most wanted.

Fitzwilliam Darcy.

One and twenty year-old Mr. Darcy had just finished his time at Cambridge as well. He was to accompany Richard on his tour; so the gathering was in essence as much for him as for the youngest Fitzwilliam.

He had not borne the attention with grace.

Josephine had quickly discovered that with as much ferocity as she loved attention, Mr. Darcy loathed it. He had been a veritable ghost during her entire stay at Twinsdale, staying quietly in the shadows at each and every moment. Even when she tried to draw him out with the best of her allurements, he stayed taciturn. It irked her.

And it excited her.

Few people could withstand her appeal. Men older than Mr. Darcy had looked upon her adolescent form with more than a modicum of desire. It was almost too easy. But a man who seemed genuinely disinterested, even in a pet-like association with an endearing, angelic girl? _That_ was a challenge. Add to this appeal the facts of his astounding good looks, obscene wealth, and smoldering (if hidden) virility, and he was irresistible.

It occurred to her that she had not seen said irresistible man for some time. After the picnic he had slipped away with Richard. His Fitzwilliam cousin seemed to be the only person he loosened up around. He was even reserved around his younger sister and father, who were also there. (Although Josephine could understand in regards to his father; the man had a dull, tired sort of air about him. He was of no use to her, and she imagined his son felt the same.)

She looked around, trying to spot him amongst the many people milling about. There was a group of children playing with kites further down by the pond. Certainly he would not be _there_. Several couples were strolling the wide path round the pond, but she could not spot him among them. There were men gathered around another man showing off his horse's prancing abilities. She rolled her eyes. _He_ would not be the least bit interested in such dandy-like entertainment. Men like Darcy rode their horses as a means of transportation, or for a hunt. Such foppery was not for him. But then where _was_ he?

Just as her full, pink lower lip was posed for a pout, she spotted him. He and Richard were emerging from the house and striding towards her. With appreciative eyes, she noticed how tall and imposing Darcy looked next to her cousin. _That_ was an impressive feat. Richard was no sapling. He was to go into the army when he returned from his tour, and he would be well fit for it. But there was something about Mr. Darcy's bearing that was incomparable. Her young heart sighed.

As they reached Josephine, her cousin reached out and tousled her hair affectionately. She swatted his hand away. Would he ruin her delicate arrangement of curls? Richard simply chuckled with a winning, boyish grin.

"Why are you not with any of the others?" he asked.

Her eyes darted to Darcy. He was standing off to Richard's side, hands clasped regally behind a rod-straight back. Ignoring her.

Her eyes narrowed briefly before she shrugged nonchalantly. "Must one constantly entertain themselves with the company of other people? Sometimes I much prefer my own company." She saw Darcy's eyes flick her way; it was brief, but it was there.

Richard cocked his head to the side. "I am surprised to hear you say that, little cuz. I happen to know you are quite the favorite around here. Why, Aunt Gladys was just saying earlier today what a '_delightful young lady_ _you are.'_" This description was said in a falsetto that made Josephine giggle. In mock warning, he added, "I should not be surprised if she came looking for you any minute to drag you away to the dreaded occupation of entertaining her."

It _would_ have been a dreaded occupation. Aunt Gladys was outperformed in imperious, one-way conversation only by that horrible Catherine de Bourgh woman. Nobody could approve her, even Darcy. Her eyes again darted briefly to him before she returned Richard's wicked smile. "In that case, I _should_ much better hide and enjoy my own company. The sight of her hurts my eyes; she puts me in mind of a badger. Or a pigmy; a badger-pigmy!" she giggled. "And as for her understanding, as the Bard once said: 'more of her conversation would infect my brain.'" *

Richard laughed, genuinely amused. Darcy smirked. She felt triumphant. It was _something_.

"Well cousin, much as my honor requires it, I simply cannot contradict you there. Your reasoning is too sound. I give you leave to sit here by yourself," said Richard. Stretching in that devil-may-care way of his, he said, "I think I may join the children with the kites. Could be entertaining. Coming, Darcy?"

"I think not."

"Josephine?"

Her heart skipped a beat. _Time alone with Mr. Darcy! _"I believe I shall stay here as well."

As Richard jogged toward the pond, Josephine and Darcy _were_ left alone…in a disappointingly awkward silence. Darcy stood apart from her for a while till he relented to the absurdity of maintaining such a posture and sat on the other end of the blanket. Taking off his fashionable cutaway coat (it _was_ a warm day), he motioned for a nearby footman to come for it. Josephine found herself quite appreciative of the loss of his coat. Indeed, the double-breasted waistcoat and cravat he wore over a linen shirt and trousers revealed him to be as fit as she had imagined. _Only remove the waistcoat and shirt too, and my gratitude shall be complete_, she thought with a suppressed giggle. (She realized, of course that a girl of her age, and a gentleman's daughter should not entertain such thoughts. But since when did "should" and "should nots" apply to her?)

Darcy had pulled one knee up to rest his elbow on, leaving the other leg sprawled in front of him. It was the most relaxed posture she had ever seen from him. Even if his back _was_ still rod-straight. The silence continued. It seemed to last forever until Josephine decided to be the first to speak.

"Do you look forward to your tour of the Continent, Mr. Darcy?"

He barely glanced at her. "Yes."

Silence.

"When do you leave?"

"We shall depart on the first of July."

"So soon."

"Yes."

Silence.

He cleared his throat. "Do you often come to Matlock to see your aunt?"

"Every summer. I wish I could see more of her. I quite enjoy her company. And Richard's. Even Cyril's."

He smirked. "But not your uncle's."

She turned bright red. "Oh! No, that is not what I meant!"

It _was_ what she meant. She was not overly fond of Lord Matlock (he was boring, and less indulgent than his wife. And too, he looked like a squash). But to confess that at all, let alone to a man who _was_ actually his blood relative, was inexcusably rude. And Josephine was never rude…to a person's face.

She rushed to assure him that, of course, she enjoyed her uncle's company. "He's so…" she fumbled about for a compliment, any compliment. "Learned."

Mr. Darcy's placid mask looked back at her. Then slowly, very slowly, he smirked again. "Most pretentious fops are."

She blinked back at him, shocked. She was not sure if she should laugh or defend her uncle. As his smirk widened into an actual smile, she smiled back. Then she laughed, loud and abruptly. She covered her mouth in embarrassment, only to keep laughing. To her great astonishment, he chuckled with her. _My, he is so handsome when he laughs!_

At that moment, a commotion was heard behind them. Men were yelling warnings she could not understand. Their voices sounded panicked. She saw Darcy's eyes abruptly widen, and before she could turn to see what the fuss was about, she felt a weight being launched against her. In a thrice she was thrown onto her back, several feet away from where she had been a moment before. She barely had time to think before she caught sight of a horse trampling over the blanket that had been hers. The horse was gone in an instant, such was its speed, but she saw enough to know it was dragging its rider behind it.

She blinked up in shock to discover what had hit her. With a gasp, she looked into the face of none other than Mr. Darcy. _Him_? _What – why? _As her mind started to clear she began to think the proud man himself had launched his weight against her to remove her from the path of the runaway horse. She re-assessed their situation to be sure and realized, indeed, that had been the case. Mr. Darcy had saved her…_Mr. Darcy_ had saved her?! Her heart fluttered.

This had all occurred in a matter of seconds. She had only just registered the facts when he disengaged himself from her and ran to join the men now running after the horse. It had stopped at the edge of the wood, but looked as if it might bolt again at any second. Its captive rider hung by his foot to the stirrup, moaning and bloodied.

As she watched, Mr. Darcy calmly pushed himself to the front of the sea of men. He approached the horse slowly, cooing soothingly. It whinnied, but stayed where it was. Continuing to speak in low, comforting tones, he reached out carefully for the animal's reins. When he had them, he stepped closer to the horse to cautiously stroke its nose, calming it.

Eventually the animal was soothed enough for other men to approach and carefully pull the injured rider to safety. He was taken inside with a coterie of worried friends and family trailing behind him. A few men stayed behind to clap Darcy on the back as a stable hand arrived to take the horse.

"What the devil happened?" she heard Darcy ask one of the men (a cousin of Lady Matlock's, she believed).

"You know Jones. Not a bit of patience with his horses," the man answered. "Used his crop like the devil on the poor thing when it refused to do its tricks. We tried to convince him to let it be, but he'd not hear reason. Next I knew, the beast had bucked him off and was off like a bullet."

She saw Darcy shake his head and murmur something about stupid men, prancing horses, and hunting. She smirked. Had she not assumed he would hold that opinion? Realizing she was still on the ground, she slowly stood. She kept her eyes trained to him, willing him to look her way. _Well, come inquire after me!_

Unfortunately, her father rushed to her side instead.

"My dear, dear girl! Are you well? Are you safe? I have only just heard, are you injured? Oh, let me look at you!"

Her frantic father gripped her by the shoulders, looking searchingly over her person. As Darcy finally approached, she swatted her father away, embarrassed to be coddled in front of the gentleman. "I am well, Papa," she snapped. She turned reverent eyes to Darcy. "Mr. Darcy saved me."

Her father turned to thank him profusely, (_"My dear, precious girl, nearly trampled by a horse, but _you_ saved her! How am I ever to repay you?"_) and Darcy stood there looking increasingly uncomfortable. Assuring the man it was nothing, he turned to Josephine. "You are well, Miss Josephine? I did not hurt you when I…"

_Thrust your perfect body upon mine to pin me beneath you? _"Oh, no sir! I am well." _Quite well. _"Thank you, Mr. Darcy. So very much."

He nodded. Citing a desire to check on the injured man, he walked back toward the house.

Her father continued to prattle, but she heard none of it. She looked after _him_; at his broad back and proud bearing. He looked like a prince. A courageous, noble prince. And that was it. That was the moment she knew.

_I am going to marry Fitzwilliam Darcy._

* * *

**A/N: ***From _The Tragedy of Coriolanus,_ by William Shakespeare

Next few chapters are in E&D's POV. Thanks for reading (and hopefully continuing)! Please_ review! _


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: This chapter is largely reflective/internal dialogue-y in nature. I tend to do that. What can I say, I'm a sucker for character development. And Mr. Darcy's just so dreamy, I love being in his head...

* * *

"_O! how much more doth beauty beauteous seem_  
_By that sweet ornament which truth doth give._  
_The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem_  
_For that sweet odour, which doth in it live…_

_And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,_

_When that shall vade, my verse distills your truth."_

- Sonnet LIV, Shakespeare

Chapter 1

At eight and twenty years of age, Fitzwilliam Darcy had finally met his match. He had then proceeded to spurn her, fall in love with her, be spurned _by_ her, become a man worthy of her, woo her, and finally, win her. In that order.

As he sat before the fireplace in his room, nursing a glass of port and staring into the fire, he could not help the smirk that graced his lips. It had been there since earlier in the day, when he had re-submitted his proposal of marriage to the willful and utterly beguiling Elizabeth Bennet, and had met with success. He had hardly been able to contain himself when the heady truth of her acceptance hit him. (Of course, "could hardly contain himself" meant, in his case, merely the registering of brightened eyes and a satisfied smirk upon his countenance. He was, after all, still Mr. Darcy.) Regardless of the lack of outer exuberance he showed, he was in truth overjoyed and gratified, especially after the heartache of the past few months. She could never know the discomposure, the torture she had wrought on him with her initial rejection half a year ago.

He sipped his port and looked dolefully into the glass in remembrance. Yes, he counted it as among the worst times of his life, ranking just under the deaths of his dear parents. To have fallen so utterly prostrate before a woman – and quite against his will, at that – only to have her spurn him, was the greatest humiliation of his life. To add further injury, she had stated that not only would she not have him, but that he was "the last man in the world whom she could ever be prevailed upon to marry."

He had been furious. He could still remember his bitter replies, the insults he had hurled back at her, and his dejected departure from her presence. For weeks he felt himself under a severe melancholia marked by dark moods, over-imbibing, and a newly acquired absence of scruples (which manifested itself as some rather ungentlemanly conduct). Finally, better judgment took hold of him and he began to consider the truth of her words. She had lodged many complaints against him, most of which boiled down to his being an inconsiderate, haughty arse (his phrasing, certainly _not_ hers) who needed a lesson in socially acceptable behavior; perhaps particularly some training in how to propose to a woman and _not_ insult her at the same time. (Really, what manner of idiot did that?)

He knew her bad opinion of him had been formed from the start of their acquaintance in Hertfordshire. When he made himself look back at that time and at his behavior toward her and her friends and family, he could see her point. He had felt himself far above his company, and felt no shame in expressing it. In fact, he had rather felt it his duty. The presumptuous country folk possessed an outrageous ignorance of the inferiority of their circumstances. Indeed, they had shown him little of the respect due a man of his social rank. They romped about with an indecent lack of decorum at their pitiful country gatherings and then had the audacity to consider themselves people of consequence. He felt it only right that they should feel the full brunt of his disdain at their lack of understanding.

Darcy sipped his port again as he grimaced into the fire. He did not use crude language often, but when it came to putting a label on the kind of man who would harbor such harsh opinions, only the word _bunghole_ seemed to do it. And what a definitive bunghole he had been. It was only fair that such unbridled arrogance, combined with his abominably rude excuse for a proposal and his interference in an innocent woman's happiness, would lead to an eventual kick in the teeth. That this kick would come from the only woman he would ever love was poetic justice at its finest. It was the kind of justice that inflicted stinging regret and pain with every breath he drew. Even now, just the memory of it gave him a pang.

A knock at the door pulled him from his reverie. It was Harken, his man.

"Sir, will you be needing anything else tonight?"

Darcy shook his head, his expression still distracted. "No, you are free to go, Harken. Thank you…oh but, Harken?"

"Yes, sir?" The man peeked his head back through the door he had been preparing to close.

"Is Mr. Bingley free….er, alone, I mean?"

"Last I saw, sir, he was still in the drawing room with Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst. Shall I inform him you have inquired after him, sir?"

"No!" Darcy answered a little too quickly. At Harken's widened eyes, he relaxed his tone. "No, do not trouble yourself. I shall speak with him in the morning. Goodnight, Harken." The servant bowed and was gone, leaving a relieved Darcy behind. He had dodged a bullet there; the last thing he needed was to have a private conversation with Bingley about Elizabeth only to turn the man loose to his wolf-like sisters. The two women could smell a good secret the way hounds could smell a blood trail. They would be on Bingley in no time, hammering him for information. Poor, artless Bingley would be like fish in a barrel to them. Not only was he an abysmal liar, Bingley was like a puppy; all indiscriminate joy and boisterousness. He would want his joy at his friend's news to be _everybody's_ joy. And as much as Darcy cared for his dear friend, if he spilt a single ill-timed word of the engagement to a single person – especially, God help him, his sisters – Darcy would wring his neck.

A vision of himself strangling the life out of his best friend in the world flashed through his mind. As amusing as it would be to see Bingley's face turn red as his hair, it was regrettably an event he should rather avoid, for Elizabeth's sake. Being convicted of murder tended to put a damper on pre-wedded bliss.

He smiled dreamily as he settled back into his chair. Pre-wedded bliss that would lead to _wedded_ bliss; with _Elizabeth_. His heart quickened. He tried not to think about all that that implied and instead distracted himself by returning to that moment when he saw a decision before him.

He had lain in bed feeling nauseous and fighting off a monstrous headache after yet another night of over-imbibing. He arose and splashed his face with water from the bowl atop his vanity. Looking into the mirror, he'd studied his countenance – the bloodshot eyes, the sallow complexion, the fierce scowl. On his neck some woman whose name he honestly could not recall had left the purplish evidence of her undying affection. He was fortunate his cravat would hide the unsightly thing. _This is who you have become_, he remembered thinking. _No wonder she rebuffed you, you fool. A woman reproves you for the first time in your life and you fly off the handle like a spoiled child and then descend into debauchery._

He'd continued to study his image. He knew this man; but he did not want to. He wanted to be better, worthier. _Worthy of her_, he remembered thinking with regret. It was then that he had decided if he could not have her, he would honor her and her memory by at last seeing to her reproofs. He knew he had a lifetime of ill treatment of others to rectify. But he was determined that rectify, he would. He owed Elizabeth that much.

Standing up to stoke the fire, his thoughts turned toward the happy twist of fate that brought her back into his life. When she had shown back up at his doorstep that day at Pemberley, he had nearly disgraced himself in that way young children do when a chamber pot is needed _immediately_ but there's none to be found. (He was most grateful he had not done so; his ambition being to woo her, not scar her sensibilities for life.) He had seen it as a second chance to regain everything he thought was lost to him, and set out to show her he had changed. He showered her and her travel companions with every attention, every kindness, all the while burning at her very closeness. When his accommodations seemed to soften her towards him, he was elated. Perhaps there was hope for them after all.

But then that bastard Wickham had interfered by running off with Elizabeth's mattress-sister, Lydia. Darcy stepping in to fix the situation truly had nothing to do with his own agenda as regarded Elizabeth. He simply could not bear to see her unhappy and disgraced. For if Wickham succeeded in ruining Lydia, he succeeded in ruining the Bennets, and therefore, Lizzy. And he would not have that. And though he had meant to keep the truth of his actions from her, she, inquisitive little creature that she was, found out. Combining that with what she saw of his other efforts to better himself and right his wrongs, she seemed to make up her mind about him; _in his favor_.

And now she was to be his. Elizabeth Bennet, goddess of his heart and dreams, would be his wife. The smirk once again found its place and he sat back down, stretching his legs languidly. Yes; he was most self-satisfied tonight.

The following morning, Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley set out as early as was seemly to call upon the Bennets. They rode in companionable silence, Bingley thinking of his Jane, Darcy thinking of his Elizabeth. Much like the night before, thoughts of Lizzy, his turbulent history with her, and their future happiness kept Darcy's facial expressions shifting like the second hand of a clock. Even lost in thought over Jane, Bingley could not help but notice.

"I say, Darcy, are you well? You seem…not quite yourself."

Darcy looked at his friend blankly. "How so?"

Bingley smiled slightly, "For one, I see the silly grin you keep trying to hide. My first inclination is to think you feverish. My second is to suspect that somewhere between yesterday afternoon and the present moment you became possessed. Tell me; what sort of devil has you in its grip, that it forces you to actually _smile_?" He gave a mock shudder. "Horror of horrors."

Darcy shot him a dry look. "It must be the same devil that has you _always_ under its spell. But at least in my case I am permitted to smile less often and without the appearance of soft-headedness. Which is more than _some_ people can say."

Bingley looked at him resentfully, but his smile soon resurfaced. He was Bingley, after all. "Still, it is odd, Darcy. And somewhat scary. You look like you are having some form of seizure over there."

Darcy rolled his eyes. "Bingley, you exaggerate. Can a man not smile?"

Bingley blinked at him. "Yes, men who know _how_. As you have only recently acquired this talent, it makes me nervous. I only hope you are not plotting some evil scheme." His eyes widened theatrically. "Am I going to die today?"

A beat. "Maybe."

Bingley smiled good-humoredly. "You bluff. You would never do such a thing and deprive my angel of her happiness." He looked slyly at him. "Unless you're going for a record."

Another beat. "This conversation is over."

Bingley smiled again, but held his tongue. Years of friendship with Darcy had taught him not to poke crotchety bears. They rode on in silence once more, covering the distance between them and the two women who had captured their hearts.

Upon reaching Longbourn, they were shown in to where the ladies were sitting. Well, Bingley was shown in. Darcy found himself detained at the bottom of the staircase leading up to the second level. For as he walked by the stairs, there she had been, on her way down. He'd stopped, amazed. How could just the sight of her give him a surge of contentment, as if an urgent need had been met?

Their eyes locked. She smiled brightly. He could not help drinking in the sight of her in a fresh white muslin gown, looking beautiful, with eyes shining with shy adoration. At him. His heart skipped a beat. How many times had he wished she would look at him in such a way? His eyes, he was sure, shone with similar adulation (though not, no never, with the brilliancy of hers; no one's eyes could rival hers).

She reached the bottom of the stairs and stood before him, just a step above. "Good morning, Mr. Darcy."

"Good morning, Miss Elizabeth." He took her hand and kissed it. She blushed. _Adorable_.

He wanted to say something more to her, but they were in full hearing distance of the room where her family and Bingley sat. So he simply stood there gazing at her. Her blush deepened. _Adorable!_

They stood like that, neither of them moving, for far too short a time in Darcy's estimation. For their moment was interrupted by Mrs. Bennet' screeching voice. "Lizzy, my child! For heaven's sake, where are you?"

Darcy snapped out of his amour-induced coma. Lizzy rolled her eyes.

"Oh, Kitty, run and get her. I am sorry, Mr. Bingley, that girl shall be the death of me."

"I am coming, Mamma," Lizzy said, eyes glittering in humor and mild irritation. "You need not send Kitty."

"Heavens, child, what _are_ you doing in there? Mr. Bingley is here. Would you not say hello to your future brother?" She giggled. The woman actually _giggled_; flirtatiously. Darcy imagined poor Bingley in there, reddening under her unseemly attentions.

Lizzy's back stiffened. She looked at him apologetically. He simply pulled a face, making her laugh. But Lord, she was beautiful when she laughed! So beautiful, sometimes it hurt. He again wanted to say as much, but feared being overheard. Sensing his need to speak, she put a finger to his mouth. He grabbed her hand and kissed it. She blushed again, but held his gaze. Her eyes playful, she placed her hand on his chest and gently pushed him forward so she could leave the last step, walking gracefully past him. Turning around when she reached the door frame, she mouthed the word "later." He nodded.

"Later," he mouthed back. She smiled again, and once more they were captivated one by the other.

"Lizzy!"

She started. Throwing him one last mischievous look, she entered the sitting room.

Darcy slumped against the staircase. He was going to be the happiest man he knew.


	3. Chapter 2

A/N: Love is in the air...and pranks

* * *

Chapter 2

At almost one and twenty years of age, Elizabeth Bennet (i.e. Lizzy) had finally met her match. He had then proceeded to spurn her, fall in love with her, be spurned _by_ her, become a man worthy of her, woo her, and finally, win her. In that order.

She was the happiest woman she knew.

That feeling remained with her, making her giddy as she set out toward Meryton beside said match. Jane and Bingley walked ahead of her and Darcy, in their own world of blissful young love.

As they walked, Darcy offered his arm to _his _betrothed. She took it with a grateful smile. As Darcy looked down at her beaming into his face, he gulped. There it was again; that look he had dreamed of but never dared hope for. He wanted to reach out and caress her cheek, but he feared the act might prove too forward. Clearing his throat (and his head), he searched for something to say. "I believe, if you approve, I shall speak with your father today."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he could have kicked himself. They were alone together a day after they'd pledged themselves to each other for life, and instead of telling her she looked beautiful (she did), or that he loved her (he did) or that he was giddy at the sight of her (he was), he was discussing logistics. Hoorah for lack of social graces.

Lizzy's brow crinkled at his choice of opening topic. She _had_ been hoping for something more romantic. But here was a chance to tease him, so could she truly complain?

"Yes, I think that is an excellent idea," she began with mock gravity. "Let us clear the air with my father. No sense in lolly-gagging about. We could even save time by composing a letter on our walk, what do you think, my dear? It could read '_Dear sir: I wish to marry your daughter. Check the Y box for yes, or the N box for no. If no, please explain your concerns in the space provided and your complaints will be dealt with in a timely fashion, at which point I shall re-submit my request or simply take her without your consent. Yours, F.D.'_ How does that sound, Mr. Darcy?"

Her eyes were shining. His eyes, he rolled. The little imp _would_ choose not to let his gracelessness pass. To think that on his way here, he'd imagined a walk full of delicate sighs and amorous nothings. Clearly he had forgotten momentarily just _who_ he was engaged to. He did not bother to respond to her, for if he knew her (and he believed he did), she was not yet done.

"Also, Mr. Darcy," she grinned (_yes; not done_), "I think it best not to wait too long, what say you? Making it a drawn-out affair rings too much of _sentiment_, do you not agree? Ugh – unseemly! No, let us call the parson today, procure a special license and get married in the town pub. That way we can have the ceremony and celebration in the same place! And then with any luck I shall breed and offer up your heir within the year, and call the thing done. Does that suit you?"

At hearing her mention _breeding_ with him, he nearly choked. Lizzy noticed this and her grin broadened enticingly. _Careful, my dear! Do not tease a hungry animal_, he thought. Regaining his composure, he managed to look down at her blandly. "Are you finished?"

She quirked her head, looking contemplative. "Hmm…Oh! And do write dear Aunt Catherine straight away; I hate to suspend her joy." A beat. "Now I am done."

He nodded. "Well then, you look beautiful today, _my_ _love_."

She smiled impishly. "Good boy."

He shook his head. Yet he couldn't contain his smile. He just couldn't be irritated. Should anyone else have teased him thus, he would be sulky. But this was Lizzy; she could do just about anything and get away with it. Mostly because she cared not a jot what anyone thought, least of all him.

"Is there anything else I ought to say before I place my foot in my mouth again, Miss Bennet? I fear incurring another diatribe; you do them so well. I think I may be bleeding."

"_You_ are not bleeding, your pride is," she laughed. "And have I truly wounded it? I beg leave to apologize. You poor man. I shall run you off with my heedless tongue yet. I can just see your specter disappearing into the sun. What a handsome figure you would cut, as you ran from the shrew you once wanted to marry."

He smirked. "I think that if I was going to be scared away from you it would have happened long ago. Perhaps at a certain parish in Hunsford?"

"Oh, pray, do not bring that up again!" She cringed. "I can hardly think of it without a landslide of guilt. And shame; two emotions I try never to feel, for they indicate I have been wrong about something in some measure, which is of course as uncomfortable as it is impossible."

She grinned at him. At his slight, uncomfortable reciprocating smile she abruptly realized her error. Embarrassed, she looked away. _Oh, you stupid, thoughtless girl!_ Sometimes she really did let her mouth run away with her. How could she have been so thoughtless as to refer with flippancy to the moment she had broken his heart? _Brava, Elizabeth_, she chided herself.

Her small hand squeezed the crook of his elbow lightly. "That was in bad taste. I am truly sorry," she said gently.

He looked at her with surprise. Her beautiful eyes were filled with genuine regret. It tugged at his heart. "What do you have to be sorry for? Elizabeth, we have been over this. I am the one to blame. My behavior to you was deplorable. You had every right to say the things you said to me. In truth, if you had not we would not be walking together, as we are now, and with our present understanding."

She peered up at him curiously. "Really? You believe that, Mr. Darcy?"

"Yes, I do," he answered with pragmatic certainty. "I have often wondered myself what the outcome would have been should you have chosen to keep your silence that day. I would have stormed out – "

"Which you did anyway," she mumbled with a suppressed smile.

" – and been left to stew upon what could have possessed you to refuse me. Given my _arrogance_, my _conceit_, and my _selfish disdain for the feelings of others_, I would have concluded that you were simply raving mad and left you to yourself."

Her spirits resurfaced at this, and she laughed. "Indeed, you may not have been too far off the mark, sir! I would not call myself _raving_ mad, but there may be a few marbles missing." She chewed her lip contemplatively. "Perhaps I fell out of one too many trees as a child."

His expression was appalled. "You climbed _trees_?"

"Oh, yes. Quite often. I was very good at it. Timmy Saunderson down the lane once bet me I could not climb to the highest branch in the tallest tree in the neighborhood. I did it." She smirked. "And made him pay handsomely for losing the bet."

He looked at her in slight trepidation. "Dare I ask?"

She gave him a very _Lizzy_ expression of remorse mixed with mischief. "It might or might not have involved my sister Kitty's dress and bonnet and a walk past half the homes in Hertfordshire."

"_Lizzy!_"

She shrugged. "I was ten. And vengeful. He used to pull my hair from the pew behind me in church and then swear it was not him." She looked at him with wide eyes. "He _lied_, Mr. Darcy. In God's house. It was righteous retribution I carried out."

A beat. "Lord, life with you shall not be dull."

She chuckled again. "I am afraid that is true, sir. Get ready. Say your prayers."

He had to smile. He loved her wit. He loved her laugh. He loved her spirit. He loved _her_. Briefly, he brought her hand to his lips for a kiss. To her chagrin, she crimsoned. He saw it and was smitten. So smitten that he repeated the action. She averted her eyes as her blush deepened. _How ridiculous that I should blush like an infatuated schoolgirl! I must look like Lydia right now…well, maybe not. _

She spotted a cluster of pansies just off the path. She loved winter flowers; something about such delicate beauties growing in the harshness of cold touched her. Needing an excuse to reclaim her space, she paused and gave Darcy a smile as she slipped her arm out of his. He looked curiously at her as she walked into the wooded area.

"Pansies, sir," she explained. "I shall bring a bouquet home to Mamma. Perhaps their fragrance can serve in place of her smelling salts when she hears our news. I am sure the salts would thank me."

He smiled and watched her contentedly from the path as she picked her flowers. Once she had her bouquet she rejoined him. With a dramatic flourish that made him chuckle, she presented the flowers to him. He leaned in to smell them and their eyes caught. They both felt a jolt as they realized how close their heads were.

Her blush reappeared. He was so handsome, and she was certain those eyes could burn a hole through her if she let them.

His breathing quickened. She smelled so wonderful, and her lips looked so soft. She was looking at him right now with all the heady fear and love he felt. Perhaps she wanted him to…all he had to do was lean over just a little more…

"Darcy, I say! Where have you two gone off to?"

Lizzy and Darcy jumped apart like the clandestine lovers they were. They hadn't even noticed that in stopping they had hidden themselves from Jane and Bingley's view behind a cluster of trees. Bingley came round the corner not a second after he called out. Jane trailed behind him, a distressed look upon her face. She looked at Lizzy helplessly, shrugging her shoulders as if to say, "I tried to keep him occupied."

_Poor Jane,_ thought Lizzy_. How difficult it must be for her, not telling Mr. Bingley what she knows. We shall have to remedy this. _Looking at Darcy, she silently urged him to tell Bingley their news.

Perhaps it was because Bingley had interrupted their moment. Or perhaps Bingley was just too easy to tease, and Darcy too cruel. Either way, Darcy did the unlikely. He turned a cheeky face toward his friend and said, "I am terribly sorry, Bingley. Miss Elizabeth's charms got the best of me and I quite forgot myself. In fact, you interrupted a highly amorous moment just now. But I promise, I shall endeavor to be better behaved now you are here."

Bingley's face, first full of good-natured curiosity, turned pallid with shock. Jane's mouth dropped open as well, and she looked to Lizzy for understanding. Lizzy could only bite her cheek to hide a delighted smile at her fiancé's joke, even if it was somewhat bawdy, and at her expense. She was reminded of the time at Netherfield when Darcy had made an even more bawdy reference to how walking made her and Miss Bingley's figures appear to the best advantage. It seemed her future husband had quite the mischievous streak of his own!

Amiable Bingley was not sure what to do. Looking back at Jane and noticing her expression of shock, he realized his duty. "I say, my friend," he began hesitantly, "I believe you _have_ quite forgotten yourself. I should remind you that Miss Eliza – "

"I should remind you," Darcy interrupted, his face stern, "that part of the role of chaperone is to keep your charges in your sights at all times. You have failed abominably at this duty, Bingley. In the future Miss Elizabeth and I will expect you to be more attentive!"

Bingley looked very confused; and piqued. "Chaperone? What – my man, that is _your_ duty! To chaperone Miss Bennet and I. And _you_ have failed at it, Darcy, and are now too familiar with my future sister!"

Darcy rolled his eyes. "'Too familiar,' say you? That was not the lady's complaint…"

Bingley's eyes grew as wide as saucers. With true, gentlemanly chivalry, he drew himself up and yelled, "That is enough! I demand you apologize at once, Darcy! Have you gone mad?"

Jumping in on the fun, Elizabeth addressed Bingley, "Sir, you must not blame Mr. Darcy for our tardiness, or uh…friendliness. It was my doing as well. We are sorry if we lost track of time in each other's presence, but can you not expect as much given our situation? Is it not the job of the _chaperone_ to tend to those tedious details such as time and where the path is located since lovebirds cannot be expected to do as much?"

Darcy haughtily nodded in agreement, his twitching mouth the only sign of his extreme amusement. Behind a now thoroughly perplexed Bingley, Jane cracked the slightest hint of a smile at his expense. (For, now that she had accustomed herself to the fact that Mr. Darcy had made a joke, _period_, she was beginning to find it very funny.)

"Lovebirds…? No, Jane and I, we are the….and you two are the chap…I am _not_ a chaperone!" Bingley finally burst out. At that, the other three could no longer contain themselves and dissolved into laughter (well, Mr. Darcy did not _dissolve_ into anything; but he did unleash a chuckle).

Clapping his friend on the back, Darcy said, "Charles, you are a good sport. Now congratulate me, my good sport."

Bingley, no longer knowing what to think, looked around so hesitantly that Jane was moved to pat him on his arm before linking hers through it. Speaking only to her, he asked, "What am I to congratulate him on?"

She nodded toward Elizabeth and Darcy as they linked arms too. "Can you not guess?"

He looked back and forth between the other three for an indeterminable amount of time. Taking in Jane's raised eyebrows, Darcy's hauteur, and Elizabeth's arm linked happily through his friend's, the light finally began to dawn on him. "I say, it cannot be…you cannot mean…" He pointed at Darcy and to Lizzy and then back to Darcy again. He was met by nodding heads and more laughter. Slowly, a huge grin began to make its way across his face. "Well!" he finally exclaimed, his face now at a fully childish beam. "Well! Daub my rump in honey and call me a biscuit!"

Elizabeth exploded again. "Charles!" said Jane. Darcy just tipped his hat.

"Well done, Bingley. Mentioning unmentionables in front of the ladies was exactly how I'd hoped you would receive this news."

Bingley colored. "Sorry."


	4. Chapter 3

"_We dream — it is good we are dreaming —  
It would hurt us — were we awake —"_

- Emily Dickenson, "Final Harvest: Poems"

Chapter 3

Josephine Chadwicke, beautiful girl, had turned into Josephine Chadwicke, stunning woman. Her hair remained the color of honey and still curled naturally into the delightful ringlets other women spent hours shaping. Her skin (which she now took care _never_ to overexpose to the sun) was as porcelain and smooth as ever. Her face of flawless complexion had broadened into a sweet, heart shape. Her nose, still adorable; her lips, even fuller; her eyes, the stuff of legends. And her figure – well, it had turned lush and womanly; it spoke of fertility, of sweetness, of feverish nocturnal pleasures.

Stunning.

But as she studied her reflection, she could only think of her one, glaring fault. _Damn my poor luck that I am not a brunette_!

For she had it on good authority that Mr. Darcy preferred brunettes. She had seen the proof of it herself. The last time they had been at a social function together he had paid no attention at all to a single woman in the room except for one Miss Caroline Bingley; a brunette. And a hussy. The woman had herself all but draped around him! It did not look like he was quite _enjoying_ her attentions. Indeed, he was as stiff-backed and short with her as Josephine had ever seen him. But at least he was _talking_ with her. And he seemed more comfortable with her than with any other woman present.

Of course, Josephine was sure that fact was owed mostly to that woman's brother, that red-headed Bingley man; a good friend of Darcy's. But how Darcy had befriended _him_ was beyond Josephine's comprehension. His perpetually delighted expression struck her as dim-witted. It reminded her of a basset hound her father once owned that was hit in the head during a hunting accident. The animal was unerringly sweet; and inconceivably stupid. She supposed she could attribute the unlikely alliance to Darcy's need to rescue.

She grinned to herself. She knew all about _that_. In fact, she was able to deduce many things about him from that day at Twinsdale. The past seven years had given her nothing but time to reflect on every aspect of that interaction. She knew now that he had given her every sign of his interest. To begin, he had refused Richard's invitation to join him at the pond. He had _chosen_ to stay with her. All alone. With just her. Then, he had behaved like a most shameless seducer. Why, the man had removed his coat right before her very eyes, then sprawled out on the blanket next to her so she could enjoy the view!

_Shame on you, Mr. Darcy,_ she chuckled, _I was but a girl._

What followed was even more indicative of his regard. In every report she ever heard of him, he was notoriously disinclined to engage in conversation with the opposite sex. He spoke only when spoken to, and then only tersely. And he _never_ teased and smiled.

She picked up a flower that lay on her vanity and toyed coyly with the petals. _But he teased and smiled with me!_

Then, of course, came his brave actions in rescuing her from the runaway horse. She knew now that what she saw in that moment before he hurled himself at her was fear; there was genuine fear in his eyes for her. He had lunged at her so heedlessly, and pinned her beneath him, sheltering her. It was as if he could not bear the thought of any harm coming to her. What was more, in pushing her out of the way he had risked fatal injury to himself; for if the horse had run but a fraction faster, Mr. Darcy would surely have been trampled in her place. Perhaps some would not call his actions heroic. He was not a soldier dying a bloody death for God and King on the battlefield, after all. But to her mind, he had put himself in grave danger for her sake. Was that not the ultimate heroism?

He was a true gentleman, of course; the definition of honor. He would have jumped to the rescue of any woman, or even a man in such a situation. But over the years she had become convinced of the singular fear he had felt for her; of the sacrifice he would have made for _her_. This conviction was helped along by what she remembered of his behavior afterward.

After he had dealt with the horse – with a masculine command that left her breathless – he had come straight to her, inquiring if she was well. His dark eyes had pierced right through her. They spoke of his concern, of a budding devotion. She was sure of it. Just as she was sure that over the years his affection had, like hers, grown into a passionate love. Although they had met but little since that week at Twinsdale, somehow she knew he how he felt. She saw it simmering beneath the surface on every rare occasion that found them in the same room. Saw it with every glance he painfully tore away from her. Someday, he would relent. Someday he would come for her. She was sure of _that_ as well.

She sighed. At least, she _had _been. For a long time, she was so very, very sure of it. So sure that ever since she came out, she had been doing everything in her power to deflect other suitors – and there were many of them. Her mother could never understand why Josephine could not be satisfied with just one of the many men who found themselves enchanted by her beauty. It was a huge source of contention between them.

But Mother simply did not know. She did not understand. Mr. Darcy would _come_ for her. He was expecting her to wait. He would be heartbroken if she did not. At first he kept his distance because she was too young and not even out in society yet. Then she turned eighteen, and he let her first Season pass without approaching her. After some consideration, she understood why. He was being thoughtful; he wanted her to have at least one Season, to have that experience.

When her second Season passed, she attributed his staying away to his duty to Pemberley. His father's death had left him with great responsibilities and he was still a young man, with much to learn. The weight of his burden came before his own pleasure. She respected him for that. Such diligence and honor was much to be desired in a husband.

But when her third Season came…and went…without even a single dance with him, she hardly knew what to make of it. Was he scared? Afraid of rejection? But she had waited _three Seasons_ for him! Surely he could not doubt her devotion? Was it that Anne de Bourgh, that sickly, sinewy little eyesore? She knew his overbearing aunt expected him to marry her. But no, snatches of conversations she had had with Fitzwilliam assured her that Darcy had no intention to honor his aunt's wish. (And who could blame him? What was that unfortunate rat-like thing to any woman, let alone someone of Josephine's beauty?)

Perhaps it was his sister. Young Georgiana Darcy had only her brother; her parents were gone. Maybe he was afraid that bringing another woman into his life would make her jealous. But if that was the case, Miss Darcy needed a lesson in reality. Her brother _had_ to marry! At the very least, simply to produce an heir. And if Fitzwilliam Darcy was keeping true love at arm's length for his sister's sake, he would get an earful when they were properly engaged!

She sighed forbearingly. For she knew that was still their fate. Eventually. True, she did not know why he had not come for her last Season. But she was sure, _this_ was the Season. He would come to London, dance with her, secure her father's permission to court her, and ask for her hand. All this waiting would be over, and she would be on her way to being Mistress of Pemberley.

Patting a perfect curl back into place, she smiled at her reflection. The future Mrs. Darcy smiled coyly back.


	5. Chapter 4

"_Oh, kiss me beneath the milky twilight…" - _Sixpence None the Richer, "Kiss Me"

Chapter 4

For the future Mrs. Darcy, the next two weeks seemed a maelstrom of activity. It was decided that the weddings would be merged into one double ceremony, a prospect that sat well with everybody. Elizabeth and Jane were by far the happiest at the arrangement, as neither could imagine not sharing the special day with the other. The date was set for the beginning of December, giving just over six weeks' time for preparation. There was much to be done, and the never-ending list of preparations kept everybody occupied.

It was a hardship for Elizabeth (as well as Darcy) that the event that was meant to unite them for life was, in the interim, serving to keep them apart most of the time. For one, Darcy was to leave for Pemberley. Issues with his tenants had arisen that he needed to be seen to, and since the trip itself would take several days, he would be gone for the entirety of a fortnight. Aside from the tenants, he also needed to make many preparations for her arrival. He explained to Lizzy that his estate was so large, and the addition of a new mistress so monumental, he was duty-bound to smooth the transition. While she understood, she dreaded the prospect of missing him, especially since upon his return, she, Jane, Kitty and Mrs. Bennet were to make their way to London to shop for the trousseaus. (Mary, of course was opting to stay at home with her books and more "edifying pursuits.")

The only times the soon-to-be-newlyweds managed to be alone with each other were on their very brief walks out of doors. The rest of their interactions involved a cohort of family and friends, and always surrounded the issue of the wedding. Mrs. Bennet was beside herself with the responsibility of planning a nuptial breakfast for her daughters' marriages to two such illustrious men.

"Heavens, I simply cannot decide upon which flowers to use for the arch!" she cried for the fifth time in the span of an hour. "Of course, I prefer to use snowdrops, they'll look just lovely hanging above your head, Jane…and Lizzy's too, of course! But, oh! There's no guarantee they will be about by then, and with my luck they'll not be enough of them! And if there are, I believe Mrs. Lucas will plot against me and pluck them all from the ground! She is so _very_ envious of your girls' great matches," she preened.

The ladies were all sitting in the drawing room in Longbourn (the very one that had once been observed to be a "most inconvenient sitting room in the summer"1). Kitty was working on decorating a bonnet while Mary was in a corner reading _The Pilgrim's Progress_ for the seventh time that year (and for this, she was very pleased with herself; as the number seven represented _completion _in God's holy word, she supposed having read one of the most edifying books in her collection that number of times made her offering of the closing year a most pleasing and acceptable gift to God; no rotting vegetables on _this_ altar). As for the brides, they were taking advantage of their betrotheds' absence by working on the wedding gifts they were making for them. Jane was embroidering Bingley's initials into one of several handkerchiefs made from her own hand. Knowing Darcy's love for reading, Lizzy had undertaken the ambitious project of making for him several painstakingly intricate, beautiful bookmarks – an endeavor she was beginning to regret.

"I do hope he will not hold it against me when I show up at the altar with red on my white dress from holding a needle and thread till my fingers bled," she grumbled to Jane at one point.

"Oh, Lizzy," was Jane's only affectionate answer.

"I pray you would not joke of such things!" their mother exclaimed from across the room. "Knowing you, Lizzy, you would show up bloodied and dirtied too, just to spite me. And then your Mr. Darcy would not have you, and would persuade Mr. Bingley he should not have Jane, and then your father would die of shame on the spot and those Collinses would throw us all out to starve in the hedgerows!"

"That would be quite the eventful wedding, then," Elizabeth answered with her usual good humor in the face of her mother's histrionics. "To think a simple bookmark could create such chaos. What would have happened if I'd decided to make him a quilt?"

Her mother clucked again and returned to bemoaning the issue of the wedding arch. Into this comedy of snowdrops, pansies, and jasmine came the gentlemen, proceeded by Mrs. Hill (the family's longest-standing servant). Upon their entrance they were met with shrieks of protest and forbearingly turned around till their ladies had stowed away their gifts. With a laugh, Lizzy told them they could now enter.

"Our secrets have returned with the knights to the temple," she joked.*

Darcy looked at her smugly. "Do you mean to tell me the Temple Mount is underneath that linen cloth in the sowing basket at your feet? And here I thought it was in Jerusalem."

She resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him. She had already incurred her daily quota of her mother's censure for only her imaginary offenses. She would do well to leave _real_ indecorum alone for the day.

Darcy moved to sit beside her, taking her hand to deliver unto it a discreet kiss. She was thankful that over the past weeks she had managed to get a hold of the blushing business whenever he kissed her hand. It still made her shiver, though. She often found herself contemplating what a kiss from his mouth to hers would feel like. Unconsciously, she licked her lips. Darcy saw this and looked quickly away, not wanting to give in to the temptation to eye her mouth with her entire family present. He pictured one temptation leading to another, ultimately ending with Mr. Bennet marching him out of the house at the point of a blade. Sometimes she didn't know what she did to him!

The two began a quiet conversation, lost in the pleasure of each other's company, until Mrs. Bennet's shrill voice rang out across the room.

"Oh, my dear Mr. Darcy, do tell us what you have heard from Pemberley! My Lizzy informs me your poor, beautiful county suffers from snow storms this season? Oh, what dreadful business! And do you know, Lizzy is _so_ concerned. She has been worrying herself sick over the whole affair, so that she gets no rest neither day nor night! What a fine, dedicated mistress of your grand estate she will be!"

At this blatant promotion of her, Lizzy pursed her lips, no less irked by the shamelessness of it than by her mother's sickly sweet tone towards the man that she had had no kind word for just two weeks ago. It was embarrassing how changeable she was. As her shoulders began to square in defense of the coming antics, she felt Darcy's hand find hers under the table they shared and hold it, rubbing the fingers soothingly with his long thumb. She calmed. He was so good to be so patient around her ridiculous mother, soothing _her_ when it should be the other way around!

"Yes, it is true about the snowstorms, madam," he said smoothly. "It is rather uncharacteristic for Derbyshire to have such aggressive storms, but nevertheless that is the case this winter, it seems. I am fortunate in having the ability to go home at this juncture in our schedule. It will give me a chance to survey what damages my tenants have suffered and arrive at some solutions without detriment to the wedding preparations."

"Such a gracious landlord, and so responsible toward my dear Lizzy!" Mrs. Bennet fawningly responded. "Mr. Darcy, you are simply too good a man! I am sure I know none better! Oh; except you, Mr. Bingley, of course!"

Bingley smiled gallantly at the barely recovered insult. Darcy gave another patient reply. "Where your daughter is concerned I most assuredly do try, but of landlords I doubt I am the _most_ proficient; that praise is too high. While I am quite intent upon being the best landlord I can be, I believe there are others even more adept at it than I am."

Mrs. Bennet looked to respond again, but was interrupted when Bingley jumped in jovially. "Pish-tosh, Darcy!" he exclaimed with a grin. "You are too modest by half!" Turning to Mrs. Bennet, he stated, "Do you know, without having actually seen for himself the plight of his tenants, he has decreed by correspondence that a wing of Pemberley should be opened up to those families whose homes have been most devastated by the storms!"

This earned a gasp from the rest of the company. For once, Mrs. Bennet's face showed genuine admiration. "Well, I do believe that is the most gracious thing I have ever heard! Such generosity, Mr. Darcy! What a fine thing for your tenants! Only, I am sure they will never want to return to their homes once they are come to Pemberley!" She giggled.

Mary, who had been tuning out the company's frivolous conversation, deigned to bestow a compliment herself. "That was indeed most Christian of you, my dear brother. For it has often been said that 'a friend in need is a friend, indeed.'"

Lizzy rolled her eyes. Darcy stifled a chuckle. Was she _in earnest?_

"Simply Christian, my dear sister?" Bingley decried. "It was nigh-near saintly! I am sure I should be hesitant to have complete strangers under my roof for an indeterminate amount of time. Particularly if they were, uh…well, _rustics_. Darcy, I salute you. Your tenants are quite fortunate."

Darcy once again denied the praise, but the others persisted. Elizabeth, on the other hand, could only stare at him in utter adoration and regard. Despite his humble protestations, his actions _were_ saintly. As he uncomfortably waved away Jane's sweet admonishments, she gave his hand a squeeze under the table. Turning to look at her, he saw the expression of adoration in her shining eyes and gifted her with an appreciative look.

When the others had moved on to a different topic and were once again leaving the two to themselves, she leaned in to whisper in his ear. "Mr. Darcy, if you continue in the vein you have been, I shall be forced to call you not only the best man I have ever known, but the best to ever _live_. I am quite proud of you."

With that, she stole a glance at the others before bestowing a sweet kiss on his cheek. Now _he_ was the one to blush. He could not help thinking that if Lizzy's favors, however small and sweet, were the result, then perhaps he ought to give his tenants a place at Pemberley more often!

* * *

Later that evening, after a lively dinner filled with more Bennet family absurdities, Jane and Lizzy rose from the table to lead their fiancés out to their horses. Bingley and Jane loitered in the foyer while Lizzy and Darcy walked out into the courtyard.

Alone now with Lizzy, Darcy wasn't sure what to say to her. His thoughts went back to her unexpected, sweet kiss to his cheek earlier in the day. He wished very much to reciprocate the gesture, and expand upon it. But he feared it would prove too bold. She was so innocent.

With such issues on his mind, his reticence, not often present in her company, surfaced. Thankfully, she found a topic for them. "So, off to Pemberley you go now. And I am to understand that under your direction the fort shall be properly ramified for battle?"

He chuckled. "Why is it you use the word 'ramified' when referring to my upcoming life with you? Do you truly think yourself such a formidable trial?"

She raised one delicate eyebrow at him, an expression that always sent very pleasant shocks through him in very particular ways. "Oh, I think you will find I will be quite the challenge at times."

He smiled darkly. "And I think you will find I quite look forward to that," he whispered softly in reply.

Elizabeth felt a frisson go down her spine at his words. Seeking to focus on something else, she noticed his overcoat lapels were slightly crooked. It looked odd on the fastidious Mr. Darcy. Absentmindedly, she brought her hands to his coat to straighten the lapels. Realizing what she had done a moment too late, she thought about dropping her hands immediately as she should. But then she felt the heat from his body beneath her hands. It _was_ cold tonight. He was so warm. As her hands lingered on his chest, she could feel his heart beating. She smiled softly and said as much.

"Indeed?" he asked, his voice low. "What does it feel like, Elizabeth?"

She cocked her head and stared at her hands in concentration (or maybe it was just so as not to look at him and those spellbinding eyes). "Thump- thump," she whispered slowly. "Thump- thump…thump-thump…'tis speeding up now; thump-thump, thump-thump, thump…"

Unable to resist the urge that was making his heart beat so quickly, Darcy took her chin in his hand and raised her face to look at him. Lizzy's hands still rested on his chest, but she had ceased her imitation of his heart. She looked at him now with wide eyes, her gaze flicking from his eyes to his lips. He was doing the same as he lowered his head and tilted her chin up more. She slowly came up on her tiptoes (he _was_ much taller than she) until their faces were just inches apart.

Closing her eyes, she felt his lips brush lightly against hers. She shivered for reasons that had nothing to do with the cold. Drawing back, they looked at each other searchingly. Believing he'd found her permission, Darcy lowered his lips to hers again for another, less tentative kiss. This one was more firm than the first, but still very soft. He did not let his lips linger, but pulled back and moved his hand to cup her face, his long fingers spanning to behind her ear. They stared into each other's eyes for a moment, she caressing his arm, neither saying a word.

She sighed. _So, that was a kiss. Heavenly._

They heard Jane and Bingley's feet upon the gravel. Darcy looked at her in frustration, wanting their moment to last longer. She smiled at him knowingly, even teasingly, and stood on her tiptoes to deliver a kiss to his cheek before taking his hand and pulling him toward his horse. Grudgingly, he mounted, eyeing her from atop the saddle.

"Safe journey, Mr. Darcy," she said softly, her fine eyes glinting in the moonlight spilling over her.

"I shall miss you every moment I am gone," he answered low.

He could not see, but he suspected she blushed at his words. "As I will miss you," she answered shyly. He grinned. As Bingley mounted next to him, he drank in the sight of her for the last time for a few weeks.

"Goodbye."

"Goodbye."

He turned his horse to leave. After a few steps, he could not resist the completely uncharacteristic impulse that overtook him. With arms spread wide, he turned in his saddle and shouted back at her, at the world, "Elizabeth Bennet, I _LOVE_ you!"

Her eyes widened and she laughed. Jane nudged her in her side, and she saw Bingley smile at his friend, shaking his head.

"As I love you, you silly man! Now turn around before you fall from your horse and break that handsome head!"

With a wink, he obeyed. She chuckled as she watched him ride out of sight.

_Mr. Darcy, you never fail to surprise me._

* * *

**1** In chapter 56 of Pride and Prejudice, Lady Catherine de Bourgh visits Longbourn to procure Lizzy's vow that she will not marry Darcy. Before their discussion, she comments on the unsuitability of the drawing room she is shown into, proclaiming it to be an inconvenient sitting room during the summer because the windows face the West.

***** A reference to the Knights Templar, a medieval pope-sanctified organization charged with, among other things, the protection of Christian pilgrims to the Holy Land. The order was at the peak of its power during the Crusades, after which it faded from glory. But legends have persisted about the secrets and treasures they guarded, from the Holy Grail to bits of Christ's cross, all said to have been found in the Temple Mount in Jerusalem.


	6. Chapter 5

A/N: A glimpse into Josephine's origins and family life. More of that character development stuff I like so much.

* * *

Chapter 5

Lady Miriam Chadwicke was an attractive woman. In her day she had been the toast of London. Within her first Season she had attracted admirers like flies to honey. She'd enjoyed herself for that one Season, flirting and dancing and soaking up adoration at every turn. Her second Season, however, found her sporting a new attitude. She stopped playing games and focused her considerable charms on securing a marriage proposal from the most eligible bachelor around.

At that time, that bachelor had been the handsome, illustrious George Darcy. His estate in Derbyshire was listed as one of the most prosperous and beautiful in all of England. His family stretched back practically to the Garden of Eden. But flirt and scheme as she might, she could not divert his attention from one Anne Fitzwilliam. He proposed to her mid-Season, crushing Miriam's hopes.

Never one to stay down for long, she had found new quarry in James Chadwicke, son of a baronet and heir to a lucrative estate in _shire. He was handsome and his manners were easy and charming. Their union combined her fortune of twenty thousand pounds, his title, and both their well-known family names in one of the greatest matches of that Season.

It also brought to an end all her dreams of romance.

Their life together turned quickly into an abysmal disappointment. What she had perceived as easy manners in the confines of courtship turned out to be weak-mindedness; charm, a glaze over idleness and shallow understanding. He attended theater because it was the thing to do; read books to say he had read them; and laughed at jokes he could only pretend to understand. He was a man without an independent thought in his head save what he wanted on his plate at his next meal.

Not surprisingly, his waistband expanded concurrently with his wife's disdain for him.

She looked across the breakfast table at him now. He sat eating from an overfilled plate, his rotund belly spilling out over his breeches and straining the buttons on his jacket. She sighed. She had just had that jacket re-fitted for him two months ago. She should have known better. He always gained weight in the wintertime.

Seeking to make conversation, she asked, "Anything interesting today?"

He looked up at her distractedly. "Uh?"

She pursed her lips and nodded at the paper in his hands. "The news. Anything interesting?"

"Oh. Mmm," was his noncommittal grunt.

Their unhappy situation had only been aggravated when Miriam had failed to produce an heir. She suffered through many miscarriages before she finally managed to carry Josephine to full term. The birth had been long and arduous, nearly costing Lady Miriam her life. After that, it was as if her womb closed up shop. She never came with child again, despite the many times she bit back the bile in her throat and allowed her vulgar husband into her bed.

Eventually, they stopped trying. At everything. Stopped trying to conceive a child, stopped trying to like each other, stopped trying to meet one another's needs. She pursued lovers. Sir Chadwicke poured all his affections on his daughter. Lady Miriam let him, seeing no reason why his affection could not stand in place for her own. For years she resigned Josephine to the same category of "Necessary Baggage" where stood her husband.

For a while the parents' disinclination for each other's company had turned into a comfortable routine of its own. They saw one another at dinner and sometimes breakfast. At these times they discussed the weather or menus, if they talked at all. They had their separate domestic and personal concerns that they dealt with quite independently of each other. They found they had nothing to argue over if they shared none of the same interests. But Josephine's coming out had changed all of that.

"I did hear there is talk of war with France. Have you found any articles on the subject, my dear?"

"There is always talk of war with France." He did not even look at her as he responded.

She fought the urge to fling her perfectly polished silver fork at his head. She had something she needed to discuss with him and he was making it very hard to find a pleasant way to segue into the topic. Usually it was necessary to sugar him up to ask _anything_ of him; this was particularly true when her request concerned his precious daughter.

With her blonde ringlets and sea-green eyes, Josephine was the spitting image of her mother. But in Lady Miriam's mind, the resemblance was only physical. Josephine was the greatest disappointment of her life, behind her husband. Brought up with every advantage and privilege and graced with her mother's beauty, she should have made an advantageous match years ago. Why, the girl had two earls and a duke pursue her in one Season! But she had refused to even consider courting any of the eligible men lying prostrate at her feet. Whenever Lady Miriam appealed to her husband, Josephine would turn on the sickly sweet charm and get her way. Every time.

Why she was so obstinate was no great mystery to Lady Miriam. It was clear her spoiled, manipulative daughter was waiting for a match she deemed worthy of her. For all her sweet and pleasing airs, her mother knew Josephine was cunning. It was how she charmed her way into everything. But with her fourth Season coming up, even her cunning and charms might not be enough for her to finally land a husband, not after she had turned away over half the eligible men in the country.

Sir Chadwicke had stayed blissfully on the sidelines up until this point, happy to buy his daughter pretty new dresses and listen to her gush about balls and soirees. But this season had to be different. If he did not put his foot down this time Josephine would be in very great danger of spinsterhood. And no daughter of Lady Miriam's would _ever_ grow into a spinster. She would kill first.

She opened her mouth to attempt conversation a third time, but stopped when she heard the sound of footsteps on the grand staircase. A moment later Josephine swept into the room, looking like springtime. Her hair was arranged in soft waves around her face and her sweet blue dress brought out her eyes.

"Well, good morning, Sweet Pea!" Sir Chadwicke's face lit up like a menorah. Lady Miriam could not suppress a roll of her eyes. "You look very lovely this morning, just lovely!"

Josephine simpered. "Thank you, Papa. I was wondering, might I have the carriage?"

"Why of course you may, sweetheart. I will send round for it – "

"Where are you going?" Lady Miriam interrupted.

Josephine started, as if it was the first time she noticed her mother was in the room. "Oh! Hello, Mother. Well, I thought I might do some shopping now we are returned to Town. I have gone without my hands on something pretty and new for too long. The country is lovely, but a girl can only go so long without visiting a boutique," she giggled. Sir Chadwicke smiled indulgently. Lady Miriam pursed her lips. "After that, I plan to visit Lady Matlock. I am most eager to see her and my cousin." She paused. "Please."

Lady Miriam knew it was in her best interest to let the issue alone. She needed her husband's favor, and interfering with his daughter's errand was not the way to gain it. But when the little _wench_ looked at her like that, snotty and provoking beneath a veneer of sweetness, it irked her to no end.

"Why are you going to see the Fitzwilliams when they are to dine with us in three days' time?" she challenged. "You know there is nothing for you with them. Your cousin Richard has no interest in you and there are no other eligible men in the house. You would do better to call on your friend Miss Whitman; her brother, _the heir to the estate_ is home from Cambridge for the holidays. Go and see what you can make of him."

Josephine snorted. "I have already met Mr. Whitman. He is a dandy, and some say a _deviant_. Trust me, there is nothing for me at Whitman House."

Sir Chadwicke roared with laughter at what he perceived as his daughter's wit. Josephine giggled. Lady Miriam looked at them both disdainfully. She felt like shouting at them for their joint stupidity in failing to see the brink of social rejection Josephine teetered on. She did not. She reined herself in and did not speak again.

Sir Chadwicke sent for the carriage and sat fawning over his daughter as it was being prepared. When the time came, Josephine laid a sugary goodbye kiss on her father's cheek. Turning to face her mother, she dropped a kiss on her cheek as well. But when she drew back, her eyes were haughty.

"Goodbye, Mother."

After she had quit the room, Sir Chadwicke went back to his paper with a fond shake of his head.

Lady Miriam solicited him for conversation again. He looked at her coldly. So, her exchange with Josephine _had_ angered him. She retreated, knowing better than to fight a battle she had already lost. She spoke not another word to him during their meal, focusing instead on her boiled eggs and ham.

_It is no matter_, she thought._ I have months until the new Season starts; months to work on him. Let her triumph over me now. We shall see who wins the war._

* * *

A/N: Gosh, Josephine doesn't even know about Darcy's engagement yet! Am I torturing you? Maybe just a little...


	7. Chapter 6

"_I'm miles from where you are…_

_I pray that something picks me up_

_And sets me down in your warm arms."_

- Snow Patrol, "Set The Fire To The Third Bar"

Chapter 6

Lizzy bore Darcy's absence with her usual good spirits, though she did have a petulant moment or two. She found herself looking forward to London at least for the chance of distraction. One of the merits of being in Town was that it allowed her to reconnect with her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner and receive their personal congratulations on her engagement. They had, of course, received notice of both engagements before the party arrived at their front door; but Elizabeth knew they would not have been surprised either way. Her aunt especially had blatantly suspected Darcy's affection for her. She gathered from their interactions that not only were her relations pleased for her, but gratified at their part in bringing the young couple together. (Certainly, if they had not gone with Lizzy to Pemberly that day the happy agreement would never have been made.)

Lizzy was also relieved to learn that both the Gardiners looked upon Darcy with the utmost admiration and respect. She had worried they might have viewed Darcy's interference in the Lydia-Wickham affair as heavy-handed. Aside from Jane, they were the two relations whose opinions she relied upon the most. Darcy having secured their support only added to her bliss.

This bliss was much needed, and much drawn upon, throughout the week in London. Elizabeth had never been one for excessive shopping, but shopping for her trousseau with her mother took the cake. Mrs. Bennet insisted on spending money on the most ridiculously frivolous things. There was no ribbon, no feather, no spool of fabric or handkerchief too minute to pass up. Every dress she wanted her girls to buy had one job to do, and one job only: entice their husbands. For Jane, she insisted on gowns done in pinks and lavenders, to compliment her coloring. For Lizzy, she hardly cared what the color was as long as the dress showed off her ample décolletage. Now that her daughter had secured one of the greatest catches in England, she had to make sure to keep him. If that meant showing a bit (or a great deal) of skin, so be it. Lizzie was mortified.

"Well, what do you think, Lizzy?" Mrs. Bennet asked in a huff. "Do you think your Mr. Darcy is such a gentleman that he only loves you for your mind? Jane has the best figure, to be sure, but her bust cannot compete with _those_," she said, pointing to her daughter's bosom. "They are your best feature and you must make the most of them, for I assure you, he will."

This delicate conversation had taken place in the dressing room of a prestigious dressmaker's shop on one of the plushest streets of London. Lizzie had been so embarrassed and angry that she left her mother to Jane and Kitty and went back into the main shop under the guise of browsing. In reality, she simply had to get out of the dressing room or she thought she might kill her mother.

She wandered about the shop, browsing noncommittally. Coming across a cluster of parasols, she spied a pretty blue one. She cooed as she reached out to finger the lace.

"That one is lovely," came a voice from beside her.

She looked up to see a young woman. She was dressed fashionably, her ensemble made of the finest materials. Her hair was twisted up in an elegant style, and Lizzy couldn't help but notice its honey shade of blonde was almost the same as Jane's hair color. In fact, many things about this girl reminded her of Jane. From her shapely figure to her porcelain skin and delicate features, she was quite the beauty. It was probably intimidating for most women. However, years of practice standing next to her ethereal sister ensured Elizabeth was not among that group.

She smiled amiably back at her. "Yes, it is. I am not usually one for parasols, but this one caught my eye. It is elegantly patterned and pleasing, yet sturdy. I have seen one too many parasols that are far more pretty than they are useful."

The other woman rolled her eyes in understanding. "I am afraid I _own_ too many parasols that fit such a description; and only came to know it when I ended up tanned after a day out in the sun, underneath the useless thing. Beauty does not guarantee utility, I suppose." She raised a delicate brow at Lizzie, a friendly smile playing on her full lips. Lizzie smiled back.

Looking through the selection, the young woman pulled out a white and green patterned one. "Oh! This one is sweet too, and matches your gown."

Lizzie took it with an appreciative sigh. "Yes, it is very lovely. And looks to be _functional_. Fancy that."

The young woman took in Lizzy's simple muslin gown, noting that, although she was very pretty and graceful, she had not the polish of high society. Clearly she was not one of the _Ton_. "We have never met before that I recall. Do you reside here in London, Miss – "

"Bennet. Elizabeth Bennet. And, no, my family owns an estate in the county of Hertfordshire."

"Hertfordshire? I have never heard of it. I am sure it is charming."

"In my estimation it is very charming. Although I may be a bit _biased_," Lizzy laughed. "It _is_ my home, after all, I should think it lovely! But truly, it is beautiful country. I must know every hill and valley."

"I understand. I feel the same about my home county of _shire. I only just returned from there last night and I miss it already! Town is wonderful, there are so many diversions, but the beauty and peace of the country cannot be rivaled. But what brings you to London, Miss Bennet? Oh – if you do not mind my asking!"

"I do not," she assured her. "I am here shopping for my – my wedding trousseau." She blushed at that. It sounded so strange coming from her.

"Oh! My congratulations to you, then! How exciting! When are you to be married?"

"Within a fortnight. And thank you, you are very kind. It _is_ exciting. Though overwhelming!" She brought her hands up to her cheeks, feeling them flush as she laughed. It was nice to talk about this with another young woman her age who wasn't Jane and seemed to actually be sensible. She looked at the other girl's open, sympathetic face and felt comfortable sharing honestly with her.

"There is so much to do, so many things to buy. I believe my mother may clean out every shop in London before we get back to Hertfordshire! My sister Jane and I are both getting married, you see. In a double ceremony. So she is _doubly_ vexed."

"What fun! A double ceremony. That is so rarely done, but it is such a lovely gesture. You and your sister must be very close."

Elizabeth nodded bashfully. "We are. She has been my rock through this. My _mother_, on the other hand…"

Her new friend laughed. "I certainly understand. My mother would be the same. I am sure I shall hear nothing but fretting and fussing night and day when my time comes. But if you will allow me to say so, Elizabeth; I am sure it will all be worth it when the day comes. You shall be well prepared so that you may enjoy your day as every bride ought. And I am sure you and your sister will both look lovely."

Lizzy raised a cheeky eyebrow. "You mean as long as I take care not to shelter myself beneath one of _your_ parasols?"

The other woman chuckled and agreed. Lizzy felt better than she had since arriving in London.

"Thank you," she said sincerely. "You cannot know how much I appreciate your words. You have been very kind to listen to a complete stranger whine. I do not even know your name!"

"Josephine. Josephine Chadwicke. There – we are strangers no more."

At that moment, Elizabeth heard her mother and sisters making their ways noisily to her from the back of the shop.

"Oh Lizzy! What do you think? Mamma has just found the ugliest feather and she swears she will make Jane wear it in a turban!"

Elizabeth looked at Josephine, who looked back with a barely restrained smile on her face. The two erupted into giggles.

Collecting herself, Lizzy said, "I believe that is my cue to go rescue my sister."

Josephine nodded. "I must be on my way as well. Elizabeth, it has been a pleasure. Perhaps..."

Lizzy nodded emphatically, knowing what her new friend meant to say. "Yes, Josephine. When my…my _husband_ and I are next in Town, I would be most pleased to call on you, if you would have me."

"I would be delighted! Take care until then. I wish you luck and happiness with your wedding!"

Lizzy thanked her, and the two parted ways. Her thoughts turned to poor Jane, and she grimaced. Jane, in a turban? And with a gaudy feather, no less. What would her mother think of next?

"Momma," she called out, "put the feather down."

* * *

That night the Bennet women drug themselves over the Gardiner threshold with an exhaustion that begged the cure of a warm, soft bed. They had shopped the day away, enough to make even Kitty and Mrs. Bennet weary of it. As the Gardiners welcomed them back, they teased the ladies.

"Too much battle for one day, eh?" asked Edward Gardiner. "They do say the ladies' dressing shops are where the fighting's fiercest. Or was that the frontlines at Hastings?" *****

Mrs. Gardiner swatted her husband as she pulled Elizabeth in for a kiss on the cheek. "We succumbed to that invasion, Edward."

"Yes, well, it all worked out in the end," he answered good humoredly.

Shaking her head, she looked into her niece's face, saying, "Oh, my dear. You do look _tired_. I expect it was an…exuberant day?"

Lizzy gave her a look, ever grateful for her aunt. The woman needed no encouragement to understand what a trial it was to spend an entire day shopping with Frances Bennet. Dealing with her tastes was bad enough; keeping her caterwauling subdued was _work_. It took all of Jane and Lizzy's combined efforts to quiet her before other patrons began to complain of headaches brought on by the sound of screeching, dying cat. And Kitty was not much better. Lizzy was utterly spent.

"It was _interesting_, Aunt. And let us leave it at that." She gave her a look that bordered on desperate. "You _will_ be able to join us tomorrow, yes?"

Beside Lizzy, Jane was edging in to kiss her aunt. Upon hearing the subject of conversation, she mirrored her sister's expression. Mrs. Gardiner laughed and placed her hands on her niece's cheeks, assuring them both that she had no obligations tying her up the next day and would be happy to accompany them. They both breathed a sigh of relief.

"Well, in that case, I beg to excuse myself from dinner. I am not the least bit hungry, only weary and ready for a bath," said Lizzy. Her aunt and uncle gave their amicable approval of her request, and she trudged up the stairs to her room.

After some arranging and re-arranging of uncooperative boxes and booty (Mrs. Bennet _had_ bought half the store), dinner commenced. The family – Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, their children, Jane, Kitty and Mrs. Bennet – fell ravenously to the meal (particularly the soldiering shop patrons). Dinner was an agreeable affair, what with Mrs. Bennet being too spent to talk much. The others enjoyed their good fortune in the form of _non-_hysterical yet lively conversation. Ever-boisterous Kitty and the children contributed the most, regaling the others with silly but engaging tales.

So lively was this affair that the knock at the front door was not first heard by any of the party or the servants. The second knock received more attention. A servant moved to answer the door and the others waited in curiosity to see who might be shown in. A low, masculine voice was heard and then the shuffling of feet as the servant proceeded the gentleman for his announcement.

With a curtsey to Mr. Gardiner, the housemaid said, "Mr. Darcy here to call, sir."

"Mr. _Darcy_?"

* * *

It had started with an argument. The explanation for this confrontation could be boiled down to two frightening words.

William Collins.

The poor little vicar had come to town for his cousins' wedding. Even though the happy event was another two weeks away, he and Mrs. Collins had found it necessary to lend their support to the brides-to-be and their family at an early juncture. So strong was their desire to be of service to their fair cousins that they quit Lady Catherine's desired company nearly two full weeks earlier than planned. That this attitude of Christian service was adapted concurrently with her Ladyship's distinct fury at her nephew's engagement, and its subsequent aim at her parson, was purely coincidental.

With Mr. Collins' early arrival came an unpleasant obligation for the grooms. He was there in honor of their wedding, and as the ladies were still in London shopping, he had yet to be thanked by anyone _actually_ getting married. Hence, they were duty-bound to visit him in a gesture of gratitude.

Or rather, _one_ of them was duty-bound. The other could conveniently be indisposed and send his regrets and gratitude with the man lucky enough to pay the visit in person. As long as Collins was thanked by someone representing them all, the thing was done.

Ergo, Darcy and Bingley were challenging each other for the _honor_ of that duty. They had tried to think of ways to compete that would make for a fair challenge. Bingley was better at cards. Darcy was a superior fencer. Bingley was best at shooting; Darcy could kick him to London and back in a horse race.

It eventually came to them to have a simple arm wrestling contest. (Or rather, it came to _Bingley_; Darcy thought himself the stronger of the two of them, but telling that to Bingley would have embarrassed him. Arm wrestling it was.)

"Stop pushing, Bingley. We have not begun."

"I'm _not_ pushing."

"I _feel_ you pushing against my hand!"

"Well then you are hallucinating, Darcy, because I am _not_ pushing yet! Get your fingers off my wrist, that gives you an unfair advantage."

"I cannot help it if my hands are larger than yours."

"It's not that your hands are larger, it is that you are a cheater!"

"I am _not_ attempting to cheat! Don't impugn my honor."

"Good God, Lancelot! Let's just get on with it."

Facing each other across a mahogany table, they managed to stop their squabbling long enough to hold the contest. It was a close call. At first neither of their arms budged as the two men pushed with all their might against the other's hand. Then Bingley looked to have the edge. Gritting his teeth, Darcy re-gained his leverage and Bingley's hand began a slow descent to the side. As they exerted themselves, their eyes grew large and veins popped out in angry places. Bingley held his own for longer than Darcy would have imagined, but eventually his arm hit the table.

"Yeeees!" cried Darcy, springing up from the table with his hands above his head. "Ha! Who is your Lancelot _now_, Bingley?!"

Bingley scowled at his unusually animated friend. "You cheated!"

"I did not!"

"You were moving your elbow about, trying to get leverage!"

"I beg your pardon? I was not! You are simply a sore loser."

"I am sore because you cheated! Let us go again, Darcy. Best two out of three?"

Darcy shook his head wordlessly, triumph written over his every feature.

Bingley slumped in his chair. "Fine. I will pay the visit to Mr. Collins."

"Give him my best," Darcy chortled as he strode to the refreshment table to pour himself some water.

Bingley looked at him resentfully. "You need not to be so cocky, Darcy. Have a little compassion."

"I am afraid I am out of compassion at the moment."

Bingley shot him another look. Darcy sighed, slightly remorseful. He _had_ just left Bingley with a duty worse than playing Leap Frog with a stack of porcupines. The least he could do was be sympathetic…but, no, he felt like being a jackass. And he knew why. Lizzy had been in London for almost a week. He had been in Derbyshire for two weeks prior to that. _Three weeks_ he had gone without seeing her; Bingley was lucky he had not yet punched his face purely because it was there and he was frustrated.

Darcy sighed. He just _missed_ her. And somehow three more weeks felt like too long to wait for her to be always by his side.

Watching him closely, Bingley guessed the source of the change in his demeanor. "She shall be back in three days, you know."

Darcy looked at him haughtily. "I know."

"I'm only saying, you need not pout so…"

"I am _not_ pouting!"

Bingley smiled knowingly. "If you say so."

Darcy grumbled to himself.

"What was that, Darce?"

"You're an ass."

"Oh. Thank you."

* * *

When Bingley came down to the breakfast room the following morning, it was to an even more self-pitying and disgusted Caroline than usual. And _that_ was saying something. Ever since she'd learned of Darcy's engagement to Eliza Bennet, she was a malignant wad of pestilent, oozing jealousy.

Yes. It was that bad.

The sight of her even more out of sorts than usual sent Bingley back around on his heel, hoping against hope to get out of the room before she spotted him, nourishment be damned. He was not successful.

"Charles!" came her sharp voice.

He turned grudgingly. "Yes, Caroline?" He expected a tirade. A spiteful monologue. Ten straight minutes of self-pity, at least. He was certainly not expecting her reply to be so brief.

"He left you a note."

He looked at her blankly. "A note? Who?"

She motioned sloppily to an envelope lying on the table in front of her. Open. So much for privacy.

"Who do you think? Who else around here – besides _you_ – would storm off on a whim to see the woman he should _never_ have proposed to because he's a sickening example of a love-sick pubescent _boy?_!"

She threw her fork down onto the table. The force of the throw sent the object back in her direction and she raised her hands in defense. Damn forks; such deadly weapons.

Charles would have found this display humorous, had he not been caught completely off guard by what she'd said. Moving to snatch the note up, he read it in awe. It was so brief it took him but a second to read. But what he read made him shake his head with a grin.

"Lord! Darcy has truly got it bad…Oh. Sorry, Caroline."

* * *

_Charles,_

_I am going to London on business wholly unrelated to Elizabeth. I shall send Jane your love. _

_-_ F.D.

P. S. _Stop smirking._

* * *

**_*_**Reference to the Battle of Hastings in 1066, an event that changed England forever. Part of the Norman Conquest, the battle was a loss for Great Britain. The country surrendered to the Duke of Normandy soon after that and the non-English conqueror was crowned king.

**_A/N:_ **D'aww. Last post for a couple of weeks, but I gave you a little Josephine/Lizzy interaction finally! It's getting there, folks, hang in there with me! :) And please review, I'd like to know your thoughts! Will work for reviews...


	8. Chapter 7

**A/N:** So, I wasn't going to post this next installment until I got through finals, because I really should focus on studying and finishing my grad school applications, but, meh – who needs good grades, let alone a solid future? I'm just really thankful for the great support and reviews. You guys are wonderful to be so welcoming to a (relative) newbie! A shout-out to hagadoe who left me my first ever review in a different language, which was awesome! I will attempt to reciprocate, but if something is a little off, please blame Google Translate, not me (because I'm not cool enough to speak French): Merci beaucoup pour le soutien critique Super! Je vous assure, Lizzy ne vous décevra pas quand vient le temps! ;) Et hey, restez à l'écoute, il y aura un peu de français plus tard dans l'histoire!

Also a big shout-out to YepItsMe and Moltz, who have been supportive of anything I post from the beginning. And YepItsMe, that idea for Bingley's nickname was _hilarious_, and I hope to employ it later.

All of that word vomit spewed, the moment you've been waiting for is here. Oh, yes: time to see how Josephine (or Jo-Jo, or Josie, as some of you have called her) reacts to hearing of Darcy's engagement…

* * *

"_How strange when an illusion dies. It's as though you've lost a child."_ – Judy Garland

Chapter 7

It was nearing evening by the time Josephine tore herself from the London shops and finally went to call on her aunt at Matlock House. By the time she arrived, she was in a positively buoyant mood. Although the combination of shopping and triumphing over her mother had certainly contributed to her elation, it was another occurrence entirely which had made her cup runneth over.

It had to do with the sighting of a certain gentleman.

This sighting had occurred as she was riding past his home. For whenever she went to visit at Matlock House, she always instructed her driver to take the route past the Darcy townhouse. The practice had first been born out of the hope that she would spot him (and he her). As time wore on and luck never seemed to be on her side, taking this route became simply compulsory. Therefore, she had been only absent-mindedly surveying the passing scenery from her landau***** when she saw him. He was standing on the stone steps of his townhouse, speaking with another man.

"_Stop!"_ she immediately yelled to her driver. The startled man had managed to do as she asked, but not without throwing her an incredulous look over his shoulder as he maneuvered the carriage out of the way of traffic. She could not have cared less. Her attention was riveted on the gorgeous example of the male specimen just across the street from her.

He had not changed a bit since she last saw him the previous Season! Well, that was not true; he was even more handsome now. Her gaze swept over him, taking him in. The features of his face were as well-placed and pleasing as a man's could possibly be. His dark curls peeked out below his hat, coyly teasing the neck-high collar of his forest green jacket. His usual impeccable attire was still in the habit of fitting his perfect form to glorious credit; she would have to find his tailor and thank the man.

As he moved to place a booted foot casually on the step above him, his tan-colored trousers strained against his honed thighs, hinting just enough at their muscles to leave Josephine dry-mouthed. He looked so self-assured and simply _perfect_ as he stood in that casual bent-knee pose, one custom-gloved hand holding an expertly crafted cane against his side.

Her heart thrummed in her chest. _Oh, you delectable man; what you do to me! Please look my way, my love! I am right here, can you not feel me?_

She watched him as he nodded authoritatively to the man to whom he spoke (who, it was now obvious, was his valet), and turned to walk up his steps. She panicked. Was she finally seeing him after such a lengthy period of separation only for him to miss the moment completely? _Oh, look up, Darcy,_ she willed.

At that exact moment, the gods who had ordained their relationship smiled on her. His eyes darted up just as he was about to ascend his steps; and directly beheld her. (Well, perhaps not at first. Technically, his eyes were first drawn to a pair of fine horses pulling a carriage which was passing in front of her; he was ever an admirer of good horse flesh. But that piece of the story she would conveniently discard straight away; his eyes had looked up, and locked directly with hers; and that was the end of it.)

Either way, as the horses passed he did see her staring at him from across the street (looking nothing akin to a creepy stalker). A look of mild recognition flickered across his features. With polite condescension his hand moved to the brim of his hat, which he tipped lightly in acknowledgment of their acquaintanceship. Her heart beat wildly against her rib cage and she was just barely able to nod her head in reciprocation of his greeting. With that, he climbed the steps and disappeared inside. She watched his back until he was gone, contemplating whether she ought to wait for his re-emergence. She decided against it; the act would seem forward, and he would not favor that, no matter how much he loved her. Men did not appreciate such behavior in a woman.

She sat back with a sigh, her hand flying to her chest as she attempted to calm her breathing. She had just seen Darcy! And he had looked at her with such adoration, such pain in his eyes at having to quit her so soon! Clearly he had some very important business to see to within his illustrious home, otherwise he would have stayed and talked with her. His eyes had told her that. Of course, she would have preferred speaking to him, but she would take the silent assurances of those dark eyes any day. It was their own secret way of communicating; it always had been.

She allowed herself one indulgent squeal (earning another odd look from her driver), after which she collected herself to some semblance of order. Calling giddily to the driver, she ordered the carriage to sally forth again. As it rumbled down the street toward Lord Matlock's house, she settled herself more snugly against the plush seat, using the time to dreamily re-live every last bit of their shared moment.

* * *

Upon reaching the house, she was seen into the drawing room. There the butler informed her that the Fitzwilliams were having a tête-à-tête with their son and would join her when they were done. She sat and waited.

Ere long, she heard voices drifting down the hallway, from her uncle's study. Angry voices. She could not hear what was being said, but she could make out Richard's voice and the voice of her uncle. They did not sound happy with each other. She heard the door to Lord Matlock's study open and slam shut. Footsteps echoed down the hall, toward the parlor where she sat. She sat up straighter, expecting someone to enter the room. Instead, she saw Colonel Fitzwilliam stream past the door in a hurry. She deflated. It seemed she was being ignored.

Fine.

But then his head popped back into the doorframe, as if he'd done a double-take at what he saw out of the corner of his eye.

"Cousin Josephine!" he said. "What a surprise! Forgive me for not saying hello just now. I did not see you there." He stayed in the doorway, his hands on either side of the frame, rather than coming into the room to kiss her hand. Seeing the signs of anger still in his face, she decided she would forgive the offence.

Smiling sweetly and compassionately, she implored, "Please do not trouble yourself on my account, Richard. I understand. You appeared…occupied."

He sighed. "Yes, well…just my parents and their small-mindedness. It is wearing on me. I believe I shall leave Town for a while. I was to away within a fortnight anyway; I suppose it will do no harm to get out a bit earlier than planned."

"Oh, a country sojourn! I am sure that will be just the thing. Where shall you go?"

"To a friend's house in _shire most likely, and then on to Hertfordshire."

"Hertfordshire! Strange you should be going there, I have only just heard of the place recently. I was told it is lovely."

"Were you? I wouldn't know. Never been there myself."

She thought that was strange, and before she could ask him what business he had in a county he'd never even been to, the door to the study opened down the hall. Richard heard it and started.

"Forgive me, Cousin, but I must quit you. I simply cannot exchange another word with his _Lordship_." He bowed and was gone in an instant.

Josephine was left standing in the middle of the parlor, confused and not a little vexed. Just as she was about to sit again, her aunt swept into the room.

"Oh, child! Please forgive me for not receiving you before now. I was having a…discussion…with Lord Matlock and Richard. I hope you have not been waiting long."

"No, not too long, Aunt," Josephine answered as she returned Lady Matlock's kiss to her cheek.

"Good. Have a seat, my dear. Tea?"

Josephine nodded. As the older woman poured and doctored the tea, they exchanged the requisite pleasantries and made small talk. But Lady Matlock seemed distracted and upset. Josephine found she could no longer go without asking her delicately if something was wrong.

Now; it should be noted that Josephine _did_ care for her aunt, at least as much as she was capable of caring for anyone beyond herself. But in this instance, her inquiry had more to do with her raging curiosity than any real concern she felt for her. The family had obviously had a fight, and Josephine was imagining all the delicious possibilities for why. Perhaps Richard had finally diddled in the wrong honey pot and had created an embarrassing scandal for her uncle to hush up! How sensational!

The poor girl could not have been less prepared for what she was about to learn.

"Oh, my dear." Her aunt took her hand in obvious defeat. "It is simply dreadful. Richard and Lord Matlock have been at each other's throats for over a fortnight. They simply cannot agree with each other over this…_ridiculous_ situation with Richard's cousin, and it is making beasts of them both! I, for one, am ready to simply welcome the girl into the family and be done with it. It cannot be helped now."

Josephine was confused. Richard's cousin? Welcome the girl to the family? What on earth was her aunt talking about?

She delicately cleared her throat. "I am sorry to hear this, Aunt. I wish I could help. Perhaps I could if…I am afraid I have not the advantage of understanding you."

Lady Matlock's brow crinkled in bemusement. "Why, I am speaking of the _infamous engagement_, as I am sure you have heard it callously called around Town." She snorted. "Is it not shameless? That people should flout our misfortune by coining a petty, scornful epithet! Is there no decency in the world?"

Josephine was now utterly confused. "Forgive me, dearest Aunt, but I still cannot make out what you say. Perhaps because I have only just returned to Town there is some news I am not yet privy to? I simply have no idea to which engagement you refer." _Although I cannot wait to hear, for it sounds positively scintillating! _

"Oh! Oh, child, I am so sorry. My head is so full with the events of the past few weeks, I had not even thought of that. Forgive me." She paused, obviously not taken with the task of delivering what was to her revolting news. Josephine waited with an outward show of patience, but inside she was eager for the old bat to spit it out already.

As if on cue, the old bat did speak. And oh, did she have something to say.

"Well; you know Mr. Darcy? Fitzwilliam Darcy, Richard's cousin on Lord Matlock's side?"

Josephine froze. Darcy? Of course she knew Darcy, as well as any woman could hope to know her intended. But what had this to do with _him_? A cold, creeping feeling began to make its way down her spine.

"Oh! My dear, he has gone and disappointed the whole family! The boy is one of the most illustrious personages in the land, was fated to make a truly _magnificent_ match. But, what do you know – he has gone and thrown it all away…on some _nobody_ _girl_ from the _country_!"

The color drained from Josephine's face. It couldn't be.

"Met her in Hertfordshire, wherever that is! Would you believe, the little enchantress has him so besotted he'll not hear reason from _anybody_!"

_No…_

"And is to marry her in less than two weeks!"

_NO!_

"She is a _nobody_, has _nothing_ to recommend her! Her family's situation is laughingly beneath his own. Oh, her father is a gentleman, true, but her mother and her other connections…"

Lady Matlock continued down a list of the unsuitability of Darcy's intended. Josephine heard none of it. The blood was rushing through her ears and she felt the room tilting.

_No, no, __**NO**__! _Darcy was NOT getting married! It wasn't possible! It simply wasn't possible! There had to be some mistake! He was coming for her. This Season. The moment they had shared but a half-hour ago confirmed it. He wasn't going to marry some country upstart, because he was going to marry_ HER_! This was _**not**_ happening!

Josephine took some deep breaths. That was it; she had hit upon it – this was not happening. This was a dream. Surely, this was a dream. She would wake up soon and be back in the real, fair world, where Darcy was waiting to declare himself. But Lady Matlock kept droning on, and Josephine did not wake up. She pinched herself, to be sure. It hurt.

Oh God; this was happening!

She felt herself growing sick as the room began to shift again. She closed her eyes, attempting to stay conscious. Lady Matlock was so upset herself that she did not notice her niece's discomfort. She continued to rant about the incompatibility of the lady, of _Darcy's_ lady. Josephine listened painfully.

"…but he swears he will have Miss Elizabeth Bennet no matter the cost. Loves her, he believes. Lord Matlock is livid, naturally. Claims the boy has completely lost his mind…"

Josephine stopped listening again as her mind began to race. Miss Elizabeth Bennet? She knew that name, how did she know that name?

She let different faces flash through her mind until she suddenly seized upon it. A fresh-faced, pretty country girl in a simple muslin gown. Josephine had wanted the parasol she was looking at and artfully turned her on to another one. She had been kind and cute, for a lesser, and was shopping for her wedding trousseau. Her.._wedding_..trousseau. Oh! And Josephine had not bothered to ask who the gentleman was. It would have been impolite and she figured he was probably some country lawyer or pig farmer anyway...

_THAT_ was the woman her Darcy was marrying?! That clueless, unfashionable country _rustic _who found _shopping_ overwhelming? _THAT_ was the woman he was making the illustrious Mistress of Pemberley?! It was all too much.

She shot up out of her seat like a bullet. Her shocked aunt looked at her as if she'd grown another head. "Well, Aunt, I can see you are quite overwhelmed by all of this. Clearly it was a bad time for me to call. I am so sorry. I shall leave you now, to rest." She kissed the older woman on her cheek, struggling to maintain a composed countenance. Her entire being trembled with the effort.

Lady Matlock looked askance at her. "Yes…yes, how…considerate of you, child." Her shoulders slumped. "I _am_ worn out with all of this – "

"Yes, yes, well upstairs with you then!" Josephine practically shrieked. "I shall see you and my uncle in three days' time at dinner, will I not? We shall talk then. Goodbye."

Without awaiting a response, she blindly swept out of the room, barely missing a run-in with the door frame as she stumbled into the hallway. As she climbed into her coach, she sucked in air through gritted teeth, willing herself to hold it together just long enough to get to her house. _Just get to the house, Josephine!_

It was the longest, hardest carriage ride of her life, but she made it home and bolted inside. Running up the stairs, she just cleared her bedroom door before she burst into tears.

* * *

***** _A landau is a top-down carriage_

* * *

**A/N**: Expect another chapter in a week! Pleeeaase review!


	9. Chapter 8

**A/N1:** First of all, yay for being done with exams and grad applications! Second of all, you guys seem to be finding it funny, which is *phew* for me. This is definitely the most intentionally humorous piece I've posted so far, and I'm loving letting my sense of humor loose. However, **early entreaty**: I would beg my awesome readers to keep in mind that this is also a suspense piece. So when the water starts to boil, so to speak, please don't get mad at me! I'm going to do my best to keep the tone from switching dramatically midway through the story; I hate it when authors do that, too. It'll still be funny, just at times a little more about peeing your pants out of anxiety rather than, you know, laughter.

**A/N2 (Updated): **When I first posted this chapter, I got a complaint that E&D's actions here are out of character (OOC). I think I built up to this chapter pretty well, but if you find after reading it that you disagree, this may not be the fic for you. My take on my beloved E&D is playful and a bit modern for a regency romance, which I think works. Plus it helps to add levity and humor to a suspenseful piece. And, believe it or not, there's a purpose behind almost everything I do; I know exactly where I'm going with this. :) Just wanted to put that out there, sort of as a warning/disclaimer. That said, this one's mostly fun, spice, and something more you'll have to read to find; sit back and enjoy the ride!

* * *

"_Laugh at the night, at the day, at the moon,_

_laugh at the twisted streets of the island,_

_laugh at this clumsy boy who loves you_

…_when my steps go, when my steps return,_

_deny me bread, air, light, spring,_

_but never your laughter…" _

- Pablo Neruda, South American poet (1904-1973)

Chapter 8

On the afternoon of the following day, it was Mr. Darcy's carriage that was winding its way through the streets of London. Inside, the great man himself sat staring out the window, seeing nothing of the sights. Indeed, his mind was more agreeably engaged. They centered on a certain country beauty who was even now waiting for him and who had been stunned and elated to see him the night before.

"Darcy!" she had exclaimed as she made her way down the stairs. "What in heaven's name are you doing here?"

_Looking for you. Pining for you. Longing to sweep you up those stairs to your room where I would make love to you till you cried my name. Nothing but your run-of-the-mill gentlemanly agenda. _

Of course, he had _not_ said that. Instead he said, "I had some business to take care of in Town."

It was not a _complete_ lie. He had seen to some very particular business upon reaching London late that afternoon. That such business was not quite his _main_ reason for being there needed not be spoken.

It didn't matter anyway; she had not believed him.

With a knowing smile, she'd taken his hand and led him into the dining parlor, where they joined the family for the remainder of the meal. The meal itself turned out to be a charming experience partially thanks to the presence of the Gardiners and also to Mrs. Bennet's uncharacteristic reticence. Mostly, however, it was enjoyable because of a little game his tease-of-a-fiancée initiated.

It had started innocently enough. As he sat next to Lizzy, she found it necessary to express her joy at seeing him by grabbing his hand underneath the table and giving it a sure squeeze. He had squeezed back, and when she tried to extract her hand from his he tightened his grip. That was when the trouble started. She turned to gift him with a discreetly arch look, to which he responded by turning her palm over to draw lazy circles on it. She had allowed this, but not without a subtle heightening of color that delighted him. Eventually, she had tried to pull her hand away again, but again he retained it. With no little smugness, he'd reveled in the idea that for once he had the upper hand on her – literally.

But then he had felt her little foot, covered only by her stocking, softly seeking then stroking his boot. He turned intense eyes on her only to see her smiling brightly at her little cousin as he told some story about God knew what. As she continued to toy with him, she expertly refused to look his way. Instead, she engaged the others in conversation with all the innocence of a woman whose flirtatious little toes were _not_ coyly inching higher and higher up her fiancé's leg with every minute. The minx!

With a rush of excitement and something else, he realized the gauntlet had been thrown down. They had not been in the same room together for ten minutes and already their sparring had commenced. It seemed they were destined to fall into this rhythm at every opportunity for the rest of their lives. He had not minded the thought at all. Bringing his napkin to his mouth, he smiled wickedly behind it. _Let the games begin, Miss Bennet._

Unable to slip his own feet out of his knee-high boots as easily as she had escaped her slippers, his retaliation had come in the form of finding her knee and rubbing gentle circles on it, slightly grazing the sensitive flesh of her thigh with every circle. The movement of her foot had stopped briefly as she inhaled sharply. He'd smirked and continued his ministrations. She soon recovered and (though thoroughly distracted and alluringly flushed) resumed her own attentions.

Across from the young couple, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner exchanged a knowing look, truly amused. In that way that only a longstanding marriage can nurture, they agreed without a word that they would let the lovers have their fun, and give no sign of their intelligence.

As Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner pretended not to notice, throughout dinner the battle wore on, each lover refusing to back down. Lizzy's foot wandered tantalizingly until she found a particularly sensitive niche on his calf. When he stiffened and made a soft, barely discernable sound in the back of his throat, she smiled smugly and honed in, increasing the pressure as she kneaded the muscle through the leather of his boots. He suppressed a groan, wondering with bewilderment at the fact that not three weeks ago this same woman was blushing at a gentle kiss. It seemed he was not the only one whose longings had been heightened by a lengthy separation!

The thought had made him even bolder, and he had matched her raise by cupping and stroking a sweet, dangerous place on the inside of her thigh. It was then her turn to stiffen. The thin muslin fabric of her dress was no barrier to the warmth of his large hand as it stroked her. She flushed even more and her breath became ever so ragged. He felt an early rush of triumph. He had her exactly where he wanted her.

But then Lizzy's ministrations began to wane. The effect of the long day began to slowly re-assert itself. To his extreme disappointment, the brightness in her eyes started to give way to a heavy-lidded grogginess. With a feeling of acute loss, he watched her fade until she removed her foot from his person altogether, ceding the floor in an uncharacteristic acknowledgement of defeat.

He was almost sulky with dissatisfaction. He had not wanted to win by default, and he especially regretted that she had grown so tired. It had put an end to his hope for a few heated moments alone in the parlor before he bid her adieu for the night. A part of him wondered briefly if she was doing this on purpose, knowing that forcing an anti-climactic end to their evening would be the greatest victory she could have over him. But one look at her confirmed that she was simply, genuinely, dead on her feet. Ever the gentleman (and consummate, head-over-heels lover), he truly did want Lizzy to get her rest. When the meal ended, he rose to leave.

When she had led him out to his carriage, he presented her with his plan for finagling some time with her the next day. Knowing she and her family would be shopping not far from Hyde Park, Darcy offered to treat them to luncheon at a restaurant thereabouts before stealing his fiancée away for a walk. Lizzy had been delighted at the prospect, quickly agreeing to his proposed time and venue. That decided on, he had settled for a chaste parting kiss to her cheek.

"Until tomorrow, Miss Bennet."

She had nodded, suppressing a yawn. "Until tomorrow, Mr. Darcy."

Climbing into his carriage, he had gazed at her beloved form as the coach pulled away, hoping that the following day would be kinder to him.

As he approached the restaurant where they would dine, he sighed. He was still clinging to the same hope. As promised, once he alit he sent his carriage round to pick the ladies up at the shop Lizzy had designated, then went inside to make arrangements for them.

Admittedly, suffering a rejuvenated Fanny Bennet, and in a public restaurant, was a test. The woman knew no bounds for her high-pitched indecorum, even in so refined an environment. Fortunately, Darcy had secured a table removed to relative privacy and so succeeded in keeping his soon-to-be mother-in-law's antics hidden from prying societal eyes for at least a time. As the meal wore on he found himself more and more grateful for his presence of mind in hiding her away, for he feared that any minute the overheated woman would birth a litter of kittens, and good God, who needed to see _that_?

When the meal was over, the tables turned in the couple's favor. Cunning Mrs. Bennet insisted she could not spare a single person from the shopping party and repined that Darcy and Lizzy would have to go on their walk unchaperoned. There was mild protestation on Mrs. Gardiner's part for the sake of propriety, but Mrs. Bennet persisted. Jane threw her sister a sympathetic look, sure she was uncomfortable with such an indecorous prospect. She needn't have worried; Elizabeth, for once, happened to be only too happy to give in to her mother's scheming. Grabbing Darcy by the hand, she practically dragged him away from the party before the tide could change. Darcy found her eagerness quite humorous and trailed behind her obediently. Besides, he rather liked this arrangement himself, especially since the park was not _so_ close that they could walk there. They would have to take his carriage – alone – if they were to thoroughly enjoy the grounds within their time limit. What a pity.

When they were seated in his carriage, they were silent for a moment. Then they looked at one another and Lizzy burst out laughing at the ridiculous spectacle they had just been a part of in the restaurant.

"_Oh, Mr. DAr-cY!_" she shrieked, mimicking her mother's cadenced, strident voice. "_How very eeel-e-gant is this reest-aur-ant! How very fiine for my Lizzy to have snared such a wEAlthy man_!" She gave an obscene giggle which perfectly mirrored Mrs. Bennet's. Darcy was set to chuckling. Yes, Lizzy was back to her usual energetic spirits, and if he knew her, she was just getting started.

He knew her.

Affecting fluttering movements, she cried, "_Although, I dare say I wish you had taken us instead to a meat market, for then I could have strung you up, and placed a "sold" sign on you! And then while you were up there, we could have beat you with a stick until you cracked open and all your thousands spilled from you! I have heard of cultures that do that, only 'tis not usually to a live human being…oh well! (Giggle) Goodness me, how well off Lizzy will be when you __**croak**__, and, oh! – is that __**REAL**__ gold on your cufflink?! Might I bite it to be sure?!_"

She grabbed Darcy's arm, pretending to ogle his cufflink. He playfully swat her away but was now laughing earnestly.

"_Here now, my deeear sir," _Lizzy continued through her own giggles,_ "do take my daughter off to __**compromise**__ her! Yes, to your heart's delight! And if you would, be so good as to be found out! For then you will __have__ to marry her and besides, can approve for yourself the merit of good, country __**breeding **__**stock**__! For ere you have returned from your walk she will surely have borne you twins; and have a third wriggling out to boot!" _

At that, she clamped her hand over her mouth, mortified at her own crassness. _Oh, you, ridiculous, heedless girl,_ she chastised herself as her face burned to the tips of her ears. Once again she had taken matters too far, her mouth and mirth getting the best of her. This time, however, she knew she had crossed a rather unladylike line. Joking about babies "wriggling out" of her own feminine aperture, and on a city lane, was not only crude, but very likely an unappealing thought to her fiancé. Unable to look at him, she just barely managed to mumble a petrified apology. What must he think of her?!

For Darcy's part, he probably would have been very shocked indeed if it weren't for the fact that it was so _funny_. Not just the comment itself, but the fact that she was so mortified by it. Seeing Lizzy burning with embarrassment over having put her own foot in her mouth was a sight to be cherished. Usually it was he who made the conversational _faux pas_. He considered that he ought to be the bigger person, and a gentleman, and assure her he had taken no offense to her barnyard talk.

But payback tastes so much more delicious than graciousness.

He put on his best unreadable expression (which, given that he was Mr. Darcy, was a pretty damn good unreadable expression). "Hmm…a babe "wriggling out" of you, you say?"

She blushed even more, wincing. "Mr. Darcy, I – that was a very crude reference. I cannot find anything to say for myself. Forgive me."

He continued to look at her blandly. "'_Wriggling_ out?'" he simply repeated, drawing out the phrase as if he was deeply contemplating it.

Her color deepened. Heavens, was she turning _purple_? He hid his smile. "Would this be in the same manner a mare drops her foal, Miss Elizabeth? You must forgive me my ignorance; you see, as a horseman and a _gentleman_ – " he looked at her very pointedly, " – the birthing of foals is the only point of reference I have for such matters. Would the baby simply fall out in one gelatinous mass, right on the streets of London? What a sight that would be."

She glared at him, now fully aware of the fun he was having at her expense. She was certain he was having his revenge for all the times she had refused to let his awkwardness pass. _Touché_, Mr. Darcy. She drew herself up, answering haughtily, "I cannot say, sir. Just as you have never seen a child being born, I have never seen the birthing of a foal. I should know nothing of how to compare the two."

"Hmm." He rubbed his fingers against his chin. "It is quite a messy affair. If the birth of this child were anything like it, there would be fluids of all sorts mucking up the streets, quite ruining your slippers and those of any passersby. And then, of course, you should have to chew through the sac with your teeth to release our little horse-human from its confines lest it suffocates. _That_ would be interesting. I wonder, would his hearty Bennet genes and foal-like origin make him stand right away and start wobbling around like a drunken _sot_ – which is a word I may employ, since you _are_ apparently partial to crass conversation; but I digress. Anyway, I dare say I should be very proud to own such a son. He would do his grandmother credit. And, I think – _oof!_"

Lizzy had finally had enough and hit him forcefully in his gut. The blow had no impact on the hard muscles there, but it certainly cracked his meditative façade and made him laugh; truly_, _down-in-the-belly _laugh_. Even more offended, she moved her hand back to repeat the assault, but he grabbed it and kissed it, still laughing.

"You, sir, are no gentleman!" She was pouting, but a smile edged the corners of her mouth. "You know how very embarrassed I am at my own slip, and I _did_ apologize. You would have done much better to let it be. Pig!"

She tried to withdraw her hand from his, but he held it tight. The act reminded her of the night before, when they were shamelessly flirting beneath the table. It sent tingles down her spine. Her face flushed slightly, which of course, blast him, he noticed. His eyes grew slightly hooded and he simmered down to a smirk. Adapting a seductive, nonchalant air, he began to lazily play with each individual finger. Slowly, he stroked his long, leather-sheathed index finger down each sensitive side, pausing especially at every hollow between her digits. The gloves she was wearing were a thin lace fabric, so she could feel the sensation keenly. She swallowed and pretended not to notice.

"Anyway, you have had your fun," she said. Her voice was shakier than she would have liked, which only irritated her more. Wretched man. "I shan't be afraid now to say anything rude. I will talk about birthing wriggling babies and drunken sots all day long and you can have nothing further to say about it. So, there, sir."

In answer, he gifted her with a lazy, content grin. Turning her hand over in his, he kissed her palm. "Lizzy?"

She looked at him, eyebrow raised.

"I love you."

She pursed her lips, her eyes narrowing. His smile widened into an irresistible grin, his dimples appearing, and she felt herself relenting. But God, _why_ did he have to be so handsome?! And alluring. _Why_ so alluring?! She shook her head. "Pig," she repeated in a mumble. Darcy simply smiled insolently once more. He knew a white flag when he saw one.

By the time they reached the park, Lizzy's wounded pride had been restored, along with her mischievous spirit. She decided that he may have had his fun in the carriage, and even won their little battle by default last night, but teasing was still _her_ forte; and it was time she won back her ground. First, however, she would enjoy his company. Insufferable as he was, she _had_ missed him dreadfully. As they began their stroll, they linked arms. They talked over his other ideas for what they could do in town and spent some time catching each other up on the events of their separate lives over the past few weeks. When Darcy mentioned that Mr. Collins had already arrived at Longbourn, Lizzy's nose screwed up in disgust and she groaned.

"I would beg to hear you are joking, but _no one_ can be so cruel as to tease about something so odious," she said. "You poor man; I assume he was fawning all over you when you saw him. Might I interest you in the service of a boot-shiner here in Town? I am sure a truly gifted one could wipe away even the remnants of spittle-encrusted kisses."

He smirked in private self-congratulation. "_I_ have no need for such services, but you might turn Bingley on to that suggestion." At her bemused expression he explained the situation with the arm-wrestling contest and the end result of Bingley having the privilege of visiting Collins alone. Lizzy gave him an appalled (though entertained) look.

"How could you be so callous as to inflict such a fate upon your friend? Your _best_ friend! Truly, that is too mean. And quite unlike you." She looked askance at him, one eyebrow raised in that way he found particularly _inspiring_. "You must have been cross indeed to have had so little mercy. When did you say this happened?"

He cleared his throat. "It…might have been the day before yesterday. Or maybe a day or so before that. I cannot quite recall."

That damned eyebrow quirked again. "You cannot recall whether or not this happened the very _day_ before your most unexpected arrival at my aunt and uncle's doorstep?"

He shrugged noncommittally, suddenly very interested in a flock of birds flying overhead. She pursed her pretty lips, her eyes shining in that way they always did when she was on the brink of a good tease. Her retaliatory agenda had resurfaced in her mind; and she meant to enjoy this opportunity.

"I see. Well, let us assume for now it _was_ the day before last. How odd that you should have been so very cross, and admittedly _nasty_ to your dear friend that evening; had a sudden need to see to business here in Town the very next morning; were conveniently able to drop in to see _me_ that night _and_ have now managed to steal me away from my family for some private time; and are subsequently in perfect good spirits." She nodded her head. "Interesting, indeed."

She looked up to see a very severe _Darcy _look that was meant to whither her; she laughed.

"Desist with the act, Mr. Darcy! You _missed_ me; terribly! Your entire reason for being here is _me_, as I am so very irresistible and you could not withstand my siren's call."

She was teasing, of course. Sheltered maiden that she was, she had no idea what a siren's call did to a man.

Darcy thought perhaps it was an opportune time for the little minx to learn.

They were approaching a more secluded curve in the path, perfectly shrouded in thick trees. He quickened their pace, ignoring her curious expression. When they were safely ensconced among the trees he turned to her, his eyes dark yet playful.

"The problem with teasing a thirsty man, Miss Bennet," he began, "is that you often find out for yourself the lengths he is willing to go to in order to quench his thirst. In such cases, dangling relief before him is perhaps not the brightest of ideas."

Her heart quickened, but she stood her ground. "I have never been afraid to tease anyone, Mr. Darcy, and I do not expect to start now. Besides, can you really be so thirsty? We have only just had luncheon and I believe you drank well enough."

He moved closer to her, pretending to pick a speck of something invisible from her pelisse as he subtly backed her against a tree. "Yes, but the problem is, my dear, that it is not _that_ kind of thirst I speak of. I speak of a thirst that was only very momentarily relieved over a fortnight ago, outside your father's manor. And I am most eager to slake it anew."

He brought his arm up to splay his palm on the tree behind her, positioning himself directly in front of, and over her. She began to tremble (and cursed herself for it).

"I see," she began…and then found she had no witty retort for such a declaration.

Oh, Lord; she had no witty retort! Curse the man, what on _earth_ was he _doing_ to her?!

Seeing he had her in his crosshairs, he leaned in, the lazy, sensual grin returning to his face. "_You_ were the one to joke of siren's calls and compromising situations, Lizzy. Just remember that when you are able to think again."

With that, he was kissing her. This kiss was nothing like their first. That kiss had been sweet and hesitant, a kiss between two people (one of whom was the definition of innocent) sampling each other's lips for the first time. _This_ kiss may have started out slowly, but did not progress that way. He began by placing his mouth on hers soundly but briefly. The noise their lips made as he pulled away was loud, and for some strange reason that excited her. It was as if it was audial confirmation of his passion, and their actions.

She had very little time to contemplate that little nugget, for he was upon her again in a flash; again, not hurried, but certainly deeper than she had heretofore experienced. His lips' decided, sensual rhythm urged her participation. A novice yet, she simply mirrored his rhythm, ebbing pressure when he did, drinking deeply at his cues. At length, falling into his rhythm became less about his tutelage and more about his _lips_. She _loved_ them! They were just the right fit for hers, and seemed to know exactly what they were about.

"My lips seem to like yours, Mr. Darcy," she breathed against his mouth.

He smiled. "As do mine yours. Very much."

They continued to kiss, deepening their contact with every moment. Darcy's tongue sneaked out to trace her lips, earning a soft moan. Emboldened, he gently parted her lips with his tongue, seeking hers inside the warm cavern of her mouth. Finding it, he gently glided his tongue over its surface. He felt her jolt, but she did not pull away. Her eyes opened as she let him repeat the action; she was gauging how she felt about it. When he did it again, combining his ministrations with a light nibbling at her bottom lip, it was decided.

She liked it.

Darcy could sense it when Lizzy began to lose herself in their activity, and felt a thrill of excitement over it. He wanted her to enjoy the moment as much as he was; and, good God, was he enjoying it! Her full lips against his were soft and responsive, her tongue was a moist, velvet delight, but even had this not been so it would have been enough simply to know they were _Lizzy's_.

He moved closer to her, their bodies touching. His hand found that niche behind her ear; hers found his neck. They were lost as their kisses became more urgent, their satisfaction communicated through soft sighs into each other's mouths. For one stolen moment, all was perfect and right with the world; poverty had vanished, famine was no more, every baby had a mother who _wasn't_ Mrs. Bennet…and then…they heard the distinct sound of approaching footsteps…followed by a gasp.

They sprang apart and looked into the face of one very shocked, very _old_ gentleman. The poor man had to be at least seven and one hundred, but was apparently still functional enough to take his daily walks. He stood there gaping at the young couple, his hand posed over his heart. Lizzy and Darcy both had a moment of panic as they observed this, wondering if their affectionate display, so enjoyable to them, might possibly have caused heart failure in this relic of a man, and subsequently his death. How would they explain _that one_ to the authorities…or his full-grown great grandchildren?

Thankfully, he removed his hand from his chest (to their immense sighs of relief) and promptly began to rattle and wheeze about the indecorum of the brazen youngsters, shaking his frail little fist and pounding his cane into the ground. The couple murmured their sincere apologies and made their escape, the decrepit gentleman's gummy admonishments trailing behind them until they were well distanced. They made a beeline for the carriage, laughing all the way. Once inside, Lizzy collapsed against Darcy's chest, giggling till tears streamed down her face, her delight increased by the deep rumblings of his laughter which she felt through his vest and jacket.

"Oh, Darcy," she sighed, wiping the tears from her face. "I do believe we very nearly killed him."

"At the very least we traumatized him," he agreed. "I believe he shall never be able to walk through that park again."

"I thought for a moment he would never walk again, _period_; or breathe. I shall take trauma gladly. It comes with a great deal less guilt."

"Mmm, and carries a lighter prison sentence."

At length, giggles gave way to affectionate cuddling and kissing, and the couple found themselves content to begin again where they had left off; only sans the ancient, unamused audience.

* * *

Little did the lovers know, this entire scene had been witnessed by a figure hidden from view.

And she was not so amused as they were.

Her thin lips curled in disgust, the color rising in her marred cheeks. She had watched every second of their stolen moments, from the heated kisses to the hurried, chortling run for the carriage. Plump hands clenching at her sides, her squinty eyes bore holes into the moon-eyed man as he climbed into his carriage with his harlot and rode away.

_Fool_, she thought with a snarl.

She watched the carriage until it drove out of sight. Then she turned furiously on her heel, her squat figure making its way down the manicured path, back to whence she came.

* * *

**A/N:** Wow, this chapter was actually really long, wasn't it? And did I not warn you ahead of time that it would be mostly fun and perhaps a little OOC? Indeed, I did. So please, do not beat a dead horse by leaving me a disapproving review if you weren't a fan. Thanks for reading!


	10. Chapter 9A

**A/N: **Hello all! Thanks for the reviews for the last chapter and to those of you who newly favorited or followed the story. I'm excited about tonight's post because it's the first half of a scene that was sooo hard to write but I think turned out really well. I'll post the second half in a few days, but for now, please enjoy this one!

* * *

"_I looked on my cherished wishes, yesterday so blooming and glowing; they lay stark, chill, livid corpses that could never revive…" _― Charlotte Brontë,_ Jane Eyre_

Chapter 9A

Josephine felt like she was floating in a gray haze.

When she had returned home the evening before last she had sobbed herself into a state of exhaustion, topped off with a massive migraine. The migraine had troubled her but little, as she had fallen nearly immediately into coma-like slumber. She had slept through that entire evening, that night, and into the afternoon of the next day. Frantic Sir Chadwicke had checked on her himself, several times, just to be sure she was still breathing. When she finally awoke, it was to a father whipping the household into a frenzy of worry over her health. Normally such attention would have been heavenly for her. At that moment, it was just acutely irritating.

When she had refused to eat, drink, or arise from her bed, her father had insisted she be seen by a doctor. In an eerie monotone, she had rejected the notion. She didn't want to be seen by anyone; she wanted to be left alone. Alarmed by both her apparent illness and her uncharacteristic request, Sir Chadwicke went against his daughter's wishes for the first time in her life. He sent for a doctor anyway.

The doctor was flummoxed as to what could be ailing the young woman. She could give him no symptoms with which to make a diagnosis. She had suffered no accident, incurred no injury; she had no fever and her migraine had disappeared; her stomach felt no ache; she was not experiencing her _woman's_ time of the month; nothing seemed to be wrong with her. To Sir Chadwicke's distinct displeasure the doctor could only attribute her current state to delicate feminine exhaustion, brought on simply by…life?

The baronet expelled the idiot from his home. And promptly demanded a second opinion.

The second doctor seemed more competent in his delivery, but the diagnosis was the same. Nothing was ailing Josephine. She was simply unexplainably fatigued, and needed rest. If she would not eat, she must at least be convinced to drink so that she would not _actually_ fall ill. If she was not better in a few days, another visit would be necessary; perhaps by then some cause could be discerned. Beyond that, he had no recommendation.

Sir Chadwicke had still not been satisfied and asserted a third opinion was needed, but by then Lady Miriam had had enough of the entire spectacle. Josephine was being melodramatic; what else was new? The little actress may be have been pretending she wanted to be left alone, but as always, she desired just the opposite. If her husband wanted the girl to "get well" he would find just a few hours of unresponsiveness from him and his staff would miraculously cure her.

She did not relate this opinion to Sir Chadwicke, but as always, changed his mind diplomatically.

"Perhaps, sir, it would be best to let it be for now," she calmly put it to him. "Surely all these visits from different physicians and other concerned persons are hardly giving her the rest she needs. She must be left alone if she is to regain her usual constitution."

The advice had done the trick. The baronet banned everybody from Josephine's room but himself and her lady's maid (and, er, technically Lady Miriam, but who would he be kidding by implying she cared?). This ban was in place by that night. It effected little change. Josephine still kept to her bed, a dull lump beneath the Egyptian cotton duvet.

The girl herself could hardly voice what ailed her. She _knew_, of course, the _source_ of her illness. But the gray blanket that had descended upon her was unlike anything she had ever experienced. It felt like…like…nothing. She felt _nothing_. She was past crying. She was past despair. She wanted only to lay in her bed and sleep, or stare at a wall and think of the same nothing that she felt. For the first time in her narcissistic existence she did not care a bit if she looked like hell, which she was sure she did. What did it matter now? If _he_ didn't care what she looked like, why should she?

Periodically, when thoughts of him would cross her mind, she would reach under her pillow, where she had hidden a pair of objects that had always given her comfort and relief over the past seven years. They were a pair of gloves. _His_ gloves. She had acquired them during that fateful stay at Twinsdale; swiped them when he took them off and walked away from them one day. He had asked around to see if anyone knew what had become of them. When he inquired of her, she had, of course, lied. The long, leather fingers and expansive palms always made her wonder at his masculinity, at the size of his hands and the elegance of his fingers. Now, as she held them to her face and inhaled their leather scent, long devoid of any smell of him, she still felt _nothing_. It all appeared too, too hopeless.

Without fail, that thought would send her back into a sound sleep, where she could hide in an inclosing darkness that would shield her from the unbearable truth.

The dawning of the second day brought no change. Josephine remained uninterested in leaving her bed even for a bath. Her father's hand-wringing worsened; Lady Miriam's irritation grew. She was still positive that the girl was faking her entire "episode." But this _was_ the longest she had ever maintained such an act, and it was fast getting old, especially since they were all scheduled to attend the opera that night. Not that she would have minded if Josephine chose not to come; or her husband for that matter (for it was almost certain he would stay home if she did, to fawn over her). After all, included in their plans was Thomas, her favorite nephew, and she would be far more pleased to have his company than either of theirs. But it was the _principle_; she hated giving Josephine the satisfaction of derailing their evening.

All she could hope for was that Josephine's own joy of entertainment, and need to be seen and admired, would flair up by the evening. It was likely; more than likely. The more she thought about it, the more she was sure of the outcome; her depthless daughter would come around.

She had not the mettle to persist with this ridiculous show.

* * *

In the afternoon of that day, Josephine was dozing lightly when she heard her bedroom door open. The sound of the door closing was followed by hesitant, approaching steps.

"Mi'lady?" It was Clara, her lady's maid.

Josephine did not even bother to open her eyes. She responded with but one sentence, spoken in the same monotone she had taken to since the day before. "I wish to be left alone."

"Yes, mi'lady, but…I have for you a note."

There was a pause. "A note?"

"Yes, mi'lady. Shall I leave it with you, or…? Well, because, you see, it's from – "

"I _know_ who it is from, Clara," Josephine said, this time in an _exasperated_ monotone. It was an improvement. She sighed. "Leave it on my bedside table."

Clara did as she was told, curtsied, and left.

Josephine lay where she was for a while, just as still as she'd been before. To an observer it would seem she had fallen back asleep. She had not. At length, her petite, lily hand reached over to the bedside table and took hold of the note. She slowly brought herself up to sit against her headboard, adjusting her pillows accordingly. She stared at the note in her hand, fingering the edges. Then, slowly, she unfolded it.

Her face remained placid as she read the contents. The only outward sign of any reaction came when she looked away from the note, bringing it down to her lap, only to bring it up again to read the words anew. She re-folded the paper, tapping it against her hand as she chewed on her lip. Then she reached over to the servant's bell and pulled it.

Clara appeared almost immediately, a sure sign of the foot Sir Chadwicke had wedged up her sensitive hind-regions when it came to the care of his daughter.

"Mi'lady?"

Josephine looked at her, her eyes vacant but for a small spark of resolve. "Clara, I wish to have a bath drawn. Then I would like you to lay out one of my evening gowns. I care not which one."

Clara's eyebrows shot up in astonishment. "Ye – yes, mi'lady. But, if I may; my master will have questions."

Josephine looked again at the note in her hand. "Tell him…we are going to the opera after all."

* * *

Lizzy had ambiguous feelings about her night at the opera. On the one hand, she was greatly looking forward to the experience, as she had never been to an opera before. And she thought with satisfaction that tonight she indeed _looked_ the part of the _ton_ lady going out for the evening. Quite so. This, because she was wearing undoubtedly the finest, most beautiful gown she had ever owned.

Coming by this gown had been an enlightening affair. When Darcy had first proposed the idea of the opera to her during their walk through Hyde Park yesterday, she had been extremely nervous about her lack of proper attire. True, she had bought beautiful new dresses for her trousseau, but they had yet to be altered to fit her, and she had not brought her one ball gown from home. To her great doubt, he had assured her such a problem was no obstacle. After that, she had been treated to a lesson in just how much the right amount of money could accomplish. The seamstress charged with the care of her trousseau dresses had the finest of the lot altered in less than the span of a day (and walked away from the endeavor with several lovely gold coins clinking in the pocket of her _own_ dress). Lizzy had had a flash-moment of understanding just how elevated in station she would be as Mrs. Darcy. She had found it alarming.

Still, she did love her new dress. It was in the classic cinched waist fashion that she was partial to, the chest slightly puckering as it descended towards the waist. The lovely cyan blue color flirted with the green side of that spectrum when the light hit the taffeta veneer just so. The waist itself was trimmed with patterned black venise lace, as were the sleeves and neckline. As the silk flowed towards the floor, it split into lace-lined panels and flared to the side to reveal a central underlayer of black taffeta. Crawling up the panels from the floor to the height of her knees was a velour floral design which stood out in black against the cyan layers, popping in dramatic contrast. And at the very bottom, trimmed also with lace, hung black brocade tassels. It was, quite simply, an exquisite gown. The other parts of her look– the shoes, the elegant arrangement of her curls, the hair combs and gloves – were also beautiful, and perfectly matched.

However, the jewel in the crown of her ensemble was draped around her pretty porcelain neck – and was an actual jewel. It was no less than a stunning, glittering, V-shaped diamond necklace. The diamonds started small from the clasp in the back, progressing in size until they reached the final stone at the point of the "V;" that diamond, too, was small compared to the rocks some women preferred to flaunt. But the relative modesty of the piece suited Lizzy's subtle tastes perfectly; she thought it was the most gorgeous necklace she had ever seen.

Such a gorgeous necklace was certainly not one she had just laying around; it was a gift from Darcy (that "particular business" he had seen to the day of his arrival). She had been hesitant to accept it at first; after all, they were not yet married, and she had already let him spend a great deal of money on rushing the alteration of her dress; she did not want to appear in the habit of accepting extravagant gifts from men who weren't her husband, even if the man _was_ her betrothed. He had found the argument ridiculous, and pressed his point.

"Consider it a loan, if you must," he'd countered. "I can take it home with me at the end of the evening and rightfully gift it to you once we are married. Does that suit, Miss Independent?"

Miss Independent found it did suit. But she insisted he stop there, before he bought her a ship and a canon to sink it just because he could.

"I would never waste money on a scheme such as that," he had answered flatly. "If I should sink a ship, I would buy _two_ of them, set them to blazes, and crash one into the other before jumping overboard on my noble steed, just in time to save us both." He pretended to be joking, but his mouth quirked slightly upward at the fantasy.

Elizabeth had stared at him before giving a bewildered shake of her head. "Men," she stated simply. "No matter how old you become, you never _really_ stop battling with wooden swords and pretending at _Don Quixote_. You simply grow _big_, not _up_."

Mr. Darcy's fictitious crashing ships aside, there was the final issue of Lizzy being coached on what to expect. The information she gleaned from Darcy had surprised her. She had always imagined opera houses were places of decorum, where audience members listened with the utmost respect to the talent on the stage. Apparently she had been wrong. People, especially members of the _ton_, went to the opera to see and to be seen. Darcy had said they would only be half-listening to the performance most of the time and chin-wagging nearly constantly.

Although he had not said it, Lizzy was not hard pressed to imagine just _who_ they would be watching and nattering about the most tonight. Her knees were not exactly set to wobbling at the thought of being the hot topic of the night. She was as self-possessed as a person could be, after all. But to her chagrin, she had to admit she felt just the smallest bit anxious – and therein was the "other hand" of the experience.

Nevertheless, she was determined to go and enjoy herself. Besides, even if she wanted to (which she truly did not) there was no turning back now; her party was seated in the carriage that was even now inching forward in the unloading line. Lizzy looked with awe and excitement at the grand edifice of the King's Theatre (**1)**. Beside her, Georgiana gave a small squeeze to her hand. She turned and saw the sweet girl giving her a supportive smile. "You look just lovely, Elizabeth."

Lizzy was touched. Such behavior was bold for modest Georgiana. She was not unaware that the shy girl held her in a sort of reverent esteem for being the only woman ever to capture her formidable brother's heart. In the few interactions Lizzy had had with her, she had been successful in drawing her out; yet there was still a certain trepidation, an awe in the way she spoke and looked at her. But the girl was intuitive; she knew Lizzy had reason to be nervous tonight, and overcame her reticence just enough to offer her support. Lizzy did not take the effort for granted. She returned the squeeze.

"As do you, Georgiana. Your ensemble is absolutely charming, and suits you." The younger girl blushed, but smiled, and mumbled her thanks.

"What about me?" Edward Gardiner piped up from the opposite seat. "Do not I look pretty tonight?"

Lizzy and Georgiana laughed. Lizzy felt a moment of gratitude for his presence. Not only did her favorite uncle put her at ease, she also felt his refined manners and way of address would do her credit tonight. Although she had wanted Jane and Mrs. Gardiner to come, there was only room for four in the Darcy box (Darcy, not being a gregarious personality, had never bothered to rent one of the bigger boxes meant for larger parties). Georgiana, of course, was to go by merit of being Darcy's sister. It had been a huge relief to Lizzy when it was decided that Mr. Gardiner should be their fourth because, as a male, he was best suited to the role of chaperone in such a public setting. The thought of exposing her mother or even Kitty to high society on the night of her semi-debut made her slightly suicidal.

"I must say, you do look rather fetching, Uncle," Lizzy answered. "You shall be the belle of the ball. In fact, you have hit upon my true reason for wanting you along. With beauty such as yours in the building, who will notice me?"

Mr. Gardiner tipped his hat with a chuckle. Darcy commented drily, "I hate to offend, Mr. Gardiner, Elizabeth, but that assessment is wrong; _everybody_ will be noticing you, my dear, and will be sure you _know_ they are noticing you. And though they will need no encouragement in this, they shall have it anyway; for I will be as willing to show you off as they will be to see you."

At that, he gave a smug smile. Elizabeth cocked her head to the side and graced him with a radiant grin. "Am I to understand, then, that I shall be nothing but your trophy tonight?"

He returned the grin. "Indeed; and the most beautiful trophy in the room, one I shall shamelessly flaunt before every jealous man present."

All conversation ceased as the carriage rolled to a stop and a footman approached to let down their stairs. Mr. Gardiner stepped out, followed by Darcy, who then turned to assist the ladies. Lizzy took a deep breath as she alit. He saw her trepidation and kissed her hand. "'Once more unto the breach, dear friends?' (**2**)" he asked playfully.

She grinned. "Aye, good sir; 'my soul's in arms and eager for the fray.'(**3**)"

* * *

**1** The opera and play house of the day; still located on London's West End, though now referred to as Her Majesty's Theater

**2 **From Shakespeare's _Henry V_

**3 **From Shakespeare's _Richard III_

* * *

**A/N: **Next chapter we'll see what happens in the theater! See ya then! Please review.


	11. Chapter 9B

Hello again, everybody! Happy belated Mother's Day to any of you mothers! Here's the theater scene! It was hands-down the hardest scene I've had to write so far, because there were sooo many facets and I really wanted to get it right. There's a lot going on here, I hope you won't find it overwhelming. I tried to write it smoothly. I think I did it, but you be the judge. Oh, and it's another of my long chapters, so get ready. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 9B

Josephine was contemplating patricide.

If her father asked her one more time if she was well, she thought she might throw him from their box to meet his doom on the carpeted floor below.

Through clenched teeth she murmured, "I am _fine_, Papa." It was the umpteenth time she had said it.

"Do not be brave if you are not well, my girl," he persisted. "Only say the word and we shall go. I do not want you exhausting yourself on account of our entertainment." Josephine looked at her father. He looked like an overstuffed sausage in his tight vest and trousers, his corpulent person straining against the fabric like flood waters threatening a dam. She wondered; would he burst into oily tidal waves of fat when he hit the ground, drowning the surrounding patrons in slippery gobs of gin-flavored blubber? She smirked. It was the first entertaining thought she'd had all day.

She considered sharing it with him, but then she found an unlikely rescuer in her mother. "Oh, for heaven's sake, leave the girl alone!" the woman snapped.

For Lady Miriam's part, she had been listening to his prattling and groveling for long enough. He had been in a swoon over whether or not his daughter would keel over from excitement from the moment she announced she still intended to go to the opera. A woman could only take so much fawning when it wasn't over her.

Beside Lady Miriam, Thomas Chadwicke gave a smirk. She sensed it and turned to him, fondly slapping at him with her fan.

"Ow!" he cried in an exaggerated fashion. "Must _I_ suffer because the three of you cannot agree on Josephine's state of health? My uncle insists she is dying; Josephine herself insists she is well; and _you_ insist they should both shut their mouths to see who is right. What say you, Josephine?" He leaned over his aunt smoothly. "Shall we all wait and see whether you are dead by the end of the performance, and prove either your assessment or my uncle's?"

Josephine cut her eyes blandly at him. "If it will mean I am left alone," was her only response.

Thomas wrinkled his nose in disgust. "You are _positivement terne_ (positively dull) tonight, Cousin," he lamented. He righted himself in his chair and sniffed. "Until you revive and can provide me with some entertainment, I believe I _shall_ leave you alone. Besides," he craned his neck at the crowd. "There is plenty to talk about otherwise. Have you seen that dead bird Lady Abbet is calling a turban tonight, Aunt? Positively atrocious."

Lady Miriam snickered. "I find it suits her. She herself looks like a dog, and her figure puts me in mind of a cow; so she looks like a perfect totem pole to my eyes."

Thomas brought his hand to his mouth in faux shock. "What a horrible thing to say, dear aunt. She looks nothing like a totem pole…what she looks like is some ghastly primitive deity come to life."

"The kind the darkies worship!" **  
**

They both tittered at that. Hardly missing a beat, they moved on to their next target, a Mrs. Elwood whose husband was rumored to be systematically diddling his footmen one by one. Josephine found their sniggering tiresome. Which was odd, for her; usually she would be the first to hone in on an unsuspecting victim and tear them to shreds within seconds of her finding her seat. It was the one activity she and her mother could share in agreeably. And Thomas was a riot, she adored his company. The boy was but a year older than she, and they had grown up together. He was half French, all fop, and no couth. Naturally, they got along swimmingly. But tonight, her foggy mind could only vaguely focus on her one reason for being there. As that one reason had yet to even walk through the door, she sat like a living statue, unable and uninterested in joining in the fun. She sincerely hoped her informant had been right. If Darcy did not show tonight she thought she might scream. She needed to see him, to see the truth, for herself.

"La-ti-DA!" Thomas cried loudly, further piquing her ire. "Do you see the melons on young Miss Annalise Rochester? I'd love to put my hands in _that_ fruit basket; _mûrs pour la cueillette_! (ripe for the picking!)"

Lady Miriam clucked her tongue at him, but laughed. "Oh, Thomas, you are the definition of a rake."

The young man ran his hands over his coiffured auburn curls. "Mmm, but I cannot help it, you know. It's the Frenchman in me. Everywhere I look I see sensuality."

"Tsk tsk, I pray you would not blame your mother's blood for your debauchery. It is not that you are French; it is that you are a man-whore."

Thomas smiled wickedly. "I am afraid I have been found out. There you have it; I want to mount everything I see for no other reason than I love a good _ride_."

"Please, would you show some decorum around my daughter?" Sir Chadwicke interjected indignantly.

"Oh; so sorry, Uncle," Thomas smiled flippantly, pulling a face at Lady Miriam. She returned it with an exasperated roll of her eyes, yet they quieted. A few minutes of silence went by, to Josephine's great relief. But then Thomas was at it again.

This time with good reason.

"I say! My, my; who is that _luscious_ creature on that drab Mr. Darcy's arm?"

Josephine snapped to attention. Her timing was perfect, as the entrance of said "luscious creature" had captured most everybody's attention. The din died down as the eyes of high society were riveted to the young woman currently taking her seat next to the one and only Mr. Darcy in his box. Beside her sat a gentleman absolutely no one recognized, and to Mr. Darcy's other side sat his sister. Nobody gave a damn about either of them.

"Do you think it could be that country girl he is marrying?" Lady Miriam whispered excitedly behind her fan.

"It has to be," Thomas answered. "Just look at her; if that's not succulent country _derrière_, I cannot say what is."

Josephine, of course, needed not speculate on the young woman's identity. She knew exactly who she was. Yet up until this moment she had not actually put the face to the name. She knew she had met the woman, could remember what she looked like. But somewhere in her mind, she just couldn't make the connection. Miss Elizabeth Bennet had still remained a mystery. Darcy, with _that_ woman from the shop? It had just made no sense. Despite what she knew, something inside of her would not believe it till she saw it.

She was seeing it.

Almost immediately, she felt herself falling into the strangest cacophony of a reaction. Her body responded, her breath quickening, her heart racing, and her color rising. As she watched Darcy lean over and whisper in his fiancée's ear, she felt a hard thrum of something beating against her breast. But she couldn't name it. When _that woman_ leaned over to respond to him, eliciting a smile from the man she had loved all her life, she felt herself grow cold, felt the color drain from her face. Another strong surge raced through her person, ending in a palpable tingle in her fingertips. What she was feeling was fierce, she knew. Only she _wasn't_ feeling it. That was what made the entire thing so strange. Her body's reaction told of passionate emotions, but she did not feel a single one of them. She felt hazy. And disconnected.

And yet she couldn't tear her eyes from them.

Like any woman would do in her position, Josephine took her rival's measure. Vaguely, she observed that this woman looked different from the one in the shop. Gone was the muslin frock. In its place was a lovely, exquisitely crafted gown. It was not quite a _trendy_ cut; but it was up-to-date enough, and fit her well. Her hair was elegant in an arrangement of glossy curls. Her wide eyes were shining, and her face glowed with apparent artlessness and love. She was radiant. _Well; look whose quite transformed. Loose-kneed, magpie __tart__ of a WENCH!_

Josephine started at her own thought. What had that been – anger? She should feel angry, should she not? But then it was gone again, replaced by her lethargy. She sighed. _It figures. _Resigned, her eyes resumed their sizing, moving to take in the costly diamond necklace nestled in Miss Bennet's cleavage. She imagined it was from Darcy. Miss Elizabeth Bennet, nobody, could surely not afford a piece like that. Josephine wondered just what she had done for him in order to earn such a gift. Beside her, her mother was having the same kinds of thoughts.

"Well, she is very pretty, I'll give her that; I like her dress," Lady Miriam allowed. "Although," she snickered, "I cannot be sure it is her _face_ he is interested in, pretty as it is. I believe his heart's desire may lie further south."

"Are you referring to that delicious bosom or her…" Thomas waggled his eyebrows.

She giggled. "Both, I suppose."

"_Miriam!_" Sir Chadwicke chastised again. Lady Miriam waved him off patronizingly with her fan and continued.

"One _does_ have to wonder what a man like that could possibly be thinking," she frowned. "He is always so stoic, so bland, even. He lives his life by propriety. Nary a skeleton in his closet, they say. I was sure he would choose a proper wife from among the _ton_."

Josephine quirked an eyebrow. _So was I._

"Everybody was," Thomas sniggered. "The man has never done anything shocking in his life. He is a complete stick in the mud, I do not care for him a jot. But, as you know," he said, leaning in to whisper roguishly, "it is my personal _conviction_ that every man is entitled to his rolls-in-the-hay. And upon seeing his fiancée, I must say he has a bit more of my esteem. If I had his money I would say to hell with a dowry and marry that succulent piece of country flesh, too. She must be a fantastic ride, indeed."

_Then why don't you ride her? Straight over a cliff,_ Josephine glowered. Immediately, she was again puzzled at her reaction. _Well, am I angry or aren't I?_

"Thomas, you astound me," Lady Miriam said. "Surely you know she has not yet let him mount her; that's _why_ he is marrying her. I dare say that underneath those trousers are bullocks as blue as the sky." She snickered again. "Yes, _Miss Innocent Country Lass_ is certainly playing her cards right. Fancy that; a woman who knows her own powers and can use them to secure a desirable marriage." Lady Miriam shot her daughter a look.

Josephine cut her eyes at her. _Choke on a beehive and die_, _you shriveled harpy. _

* * *

Inside the Darcy box, Elizabeth sat up straighter in her seat as the lights began to dim. The opera was starting, and she was purely excited. She knew she was being watched and likely torn to shreds, but she had made a discovery: she truly did not care. It was quite the liberating revelation. Gone was any trepidation she had felt in the carriage. She was here now, people were talking, but it was the most they could do. Let them gossip and draw their conclusions if they wished; she would enjoy the performance and laugh at their silliness. She turned to Darcy, gracing him with a radiant grin. He smiled back, finding her joyful anticipation impossibly endearing. _Does anything ever get you down, my love?_

As the curtains came up, the dramatic music immediately started and the leading soprano launched into an aria more powerful than anything Lizzy had ever heard. The woman's voice was unbelievable. At turns it was strong and pure, or soft and poignant. There were times she hit notes Lizzy was sure only dogs should hear, only to descend back down the scale as effortlessly as water flows. Elizabeth was stunned. As the aria came to an end and the audience dutifully clapped, she turned to Darcy. "That was divine!"

He nodded, saying, "I am glad you thought so; I am sure the prima donna is glad as well, since no one else in the room was paying her the least bit of attention." He shot her a meaningful look.

Lizzy looked out over the crowd, at the heads still turned her way, the mouths still chattering at the speed of lightening behind delicate fans. She shook her head, an ironic smile on her face. "How in the world can people be concerning themselves with me while there is such talent on the stage?"

"An opera they shall always be able to see; your infamous unveiling is a one-time show," he answered with a frown. She noticed and raised her eyebrow. "Mr. Darcy, _smile_. It is not all bad."

His severe expression did not alter. "They are making me angry."

She laughed. "They are simply doing what you _said_ they would! Can you really be so angry that your own prediction came true? I, for one, quite enjoy it when I am proven right, and encourage you to revel in it now. For when we are married," she cut him a sly look, "you will have less opportunity."

There was a pause before he nodded in stoic acknowledgement. She felt a sting of disappointment that her attempt at humor had not had the desired effect, but then he astonished her by taking her hand and kissing it. The act brought about a fresh round of nattering. Mr. Darcy scandalously showing affection toward his scandalous choice of a bride in a scandalously public debut? Absolutely scandalous!

Lizzy had to stifle a roll of her eyes, both at their audience's reaction and at her betrothed's glaring agenda. "Making a point, my dear?" she asked wryly as he lowered her hand.

He shrugged. "If they are going to talk, we might as well give them something to talk about. I _told_ you I would be showing off tonight." _Besides, it was a far more gentlemanly place to kiss you than the one I would prefer_, he thought smugly.

Lizzy had to laugh. It was all so ridiculous. Here she was, just a girl from Hertfordshire, sitting in the King's Theatre opposite one of the most renowned prima donnas of the day, who was even now singing her second, heartbreakingly beautiful aria – and everybody's eyes were riveted to _her_. What a funny lot, the _ton_. She stole a look at her uncle, to see how he was bearing up under the attention. Dear Mr. Gardiner caught her eyes immediately and rolled his own, an amused smile playing on his face.

"It seems you were right, my dear," he teased. "Nobody can keep from looking at me."

She laughed. Yes; Mr. Gardiner was the perfect pick for tonight. Glancing at Darcy, she was displeased to see his frown had returned. She would have to fix this. Leaning over to whisper in his ear, she asked "What do you suppose they are saying, my dear?"

He looked at her blandly and shrugged. "I suppose they are dissecting what they know of your connections and background."

She nodded sagely. "Yes, you are probably right. They are most likely discussing that my mother is no gentlewoman, and has family in trade; deplorable. That my younger sister brazenly eloped with an army officer; unthinkable. And that I have no true dowry to speak of; unacceptable." She sighed. "It seems I am entirely ill-qualified to be your bride no matter which way you turn me."

He harrumphed, straightening imposingly in his seat. She smiled. Darcy could be nothing if not intimidating. That he employed the talent in her defense was touching. Still, it was not the effect she was going for. She tried another route. Looking innocently ahead, she fluttered her fan and said, "Did I forget to thank you, sir, for such a pleasant walk yesterday? Allow me to do so now, and say that I quite enjoyed the diversion."

His expression changed at that. Although he suppressed any overt reaction to the pleasant memories she had evoked, he could not stop his jaw from clinching ever so slightly and his eyes from darkening. And then he smiled. Haughtily. Lizzy was satisfied that she had achieved her goal. He would not be contemplating gossiping old ladies now.

Beside Darcy, Georgiana was still struggling with letting it go. She gave a barely discernible huff. "I wish they would all just cease. Can we not simply enjoy the music? This cast is marvelous," she mumbled.

Darcy gave her a contemplative look. "I can look to see if there's any gagging cloths about, dearest. You can start at the right of the room, I'll start at the left and we can meet in the middle. We shall have this place quiet as a graveyard in no time." This earned a playful slap to his arm from his sister, who was delighted that he had loosened enough to joke with her out in public. Elizabeth was certainly like some magic potion.

Around them, the nattering _ton_ was generally in consensus on that note. Miss Bennet of Hertfordshire surely _was_ like a magic potion; the question was, what _kind_ of magic had she worked on the elusive Mr. Darcy? Most people were agreeing with Lady Miriam's assessment; the man had probably been seduced by the little tart, who was likely teasing him at bouts, then mercilessly anchoring her skirts to the floor until she could secure his name. Nobody could blame her for her methods, if that were the case. There was no denying she had the goods (every man present could vouch for that), and plenty of women had landed husbands in the exact same manner. It was that she was not one of _them_ that was irksome.

Thankfully for Darcy and Elizabeth, there were also those romantics who were bravely voicing that maybe, just maybe it was a true love match. Everybody knew about the colossal falling-out he had had with his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, over this Miss Bennet. And everyone knew that that woman was not to be trifled with. She made grown men suffer bouts of incontinence right in their trousers. If this was simply lust, would the pragmatic Mr. Darcy really have thrown down the gauntlet with _her_? Not to mention, it was impossible to miss the way he looked at the woman. Why, he was actually _smiling_! Before tonight, it was generally assumed he didn't even know _how_; just like some people could never learn to whistle, or ride a horse, or chew with their mouths closed, Mr. Darcy would never learn to smile. But wonders never cease. Not only was he smiling, he was even seen laughing when she would whisper something in his ear. He had even kissed her hand for all to see! Yes, this could truly be love. (Sigh.)

It was not a romantic notion to everyone. One lady in particular was not pleased by it.

* * *

Surrounded by people who simply would not quit, Josephine could not help but listen to all the talk. She ingested the different theories and tried to sort them for herself. She desperately wanted to understand how this had happened, how a country girl had stolen Darcy right out from under her nose. But her mind simply could not work through the puzzle pieces. She remained suspended in that same odd cacophony of alternating intense feelings and intense non-feelings that _were_ feelings, _sort of_. It left her bedewed with confusion. At turns she would watch the couple exchange a playful look, or word, and feel heartbroken. That feeling would give way to bleakness and then merciful _nothing_. She would then turn her attention away, to the performance, only to have her eyes drawn back to them by some force she was powerless to defy. Witnessing another subtle touch, or a flicker of light in Darcy's eyes would pluck at her heartstrings again, or spark her ire, and start the process over. It was absolutely exhausting.

Unbeknownst to her, this struggle played out on her face. Her astute mother could not help but notice. As she watched Josephine's eyes shift between the Darcy box and the stage, alternating between lifelessness and tortured regret, a light began to dawn on her. _My, my, _she thought. _I believe I begin to see at last._

Seeking to test her theory, she turned to Thomas. "I hear from the crowd that the gentleman in the box with Miss Bennet is her uncle – and he is in _trade_?" She said the last word with utter disdain.

Thomas wrinkled his nose and nodded. "I did hear that, yes. It does subtract some from her divinity, even for a randy beast such as myself. The vulgarity of such a connection gives me chills." He gave a shudder in demonstration. "The closest contact I ever have with a tradesman is when I am getting my boots fitted, and he's licking them."

Lady Miriam chuckled, looking askance at her daughter. Josephine's pallid face had flushed, ever so slightly. As if on cue, Thomas chose to continue, unknowingly adding fuel to her cause.

"And, I did hear," said he, "that her dowry is downright _dérisoire_ (paltry) and that her_ fifteen year-old _sister eloped – with a low-ranking _army officer_!"

Lady Miriam was genuinely affronted. "Can it be true, do you think?" Thomas shrugged and held his hands up, but gave a significant look. "That is _deplorable_!" she protested. "The man has surely gone mad. But you know, Thomas, all things accounted for, I think it might be possible – " she paused for effect, turning so Josephine could hear her, "that he truly loves her."

Her daughter trembled. Aha!

Thomas shrugged again, growing bored now that the talk was turning to something as mundane as love. "I wouldn't know. The closest I ever come to love is when a tradesman's _daughter_ sits before me for a boot-fitting – and licks a very different part of my person."

"_Thomas_!" Sir Chadwick was purple. "I will expel you from my box! Keep your filthy tongue in your mouth, boy. You are a gentleman!"

Thomas pouted and sank back in his chair. Lady Miriam's shoulders shook with laughter. Josephine felt like crying.

She wanted to go home.

* * *

When the opera was at last over, Georgiana turned to Elizabeth excitedly. "Well, what did you think? Did you enjoy your first opera?"

Lizzy smiled brightly. "Indeed, I did. Though I will always remember it differently than anyone else here; to me, the show was on the _stage_."

Darcy scoffed drily. "Yes, fancy that. You came to the opera to watch the opera. What on earth were you thinking?"

As the party started to collect their things to leave, the lights began to come back up. Elizabeth surveyed the room, wanting to marvel one last time at its grandeur before she left. As her eyes roved over the boxes, they landed on one vaguely familiar face. The angelic-looking girl was looking right at her with eyes as wide as saucers. In an instant, she remembered her. "Miss Josephine!" she exclaimed, waving. Instantly, she recalled herself, blushing at her own indecorum. Darcy turned to raise an eyebrow at her.

"See somebody you recognize?"

Her color deepened. "I'm so sorry."

He shook his head, fighting the urge to kiss her forehead. It was so adorable when she apologized; probably because it came so infrequently. Like a comet. Or a snowstorm in hell.

"There is no need to apologize. Where is your friend?"

"She's – " Lizzy stopped, confused. The box where Josephine had been was now empty. Her shoulders fell. "Oh. It appears she has left. Oh, well; I suppose I shall have the chance to see her again another time."

Darcy nodded. "No doubt you will. Shall we go?"

"Indeed!" Mr. Gardiner quickly answered in her place. "Let's; for I have a great need to see my _bed_ again." There was a grumble of general consensus, and they took their leave.

* * *

Outside the opera house, Josephine had never been more relieved to see the inside of a carriage.

When she had seen Miss Elizabeth's eyes fix on her, heard the brazen hussy call her name, she had panicked. There may have been many feelings she could not yet identify when it came to this woman and her connection to Darcy, but she knew for certain she could not bear to exchange pleasantries with her. She had immediately affected a swoon, sending her father into hysterics. He had whisked her out of the box without further ado, practically leaving Thomas and her mother in the dust. Although his hysterical inquiries were grating, it was far better than enduring a run-in with Darcy's whore. She would sooner kill.

That thought, and the intensity of her reaction at being faced with the woman, had sparked something in her. That something grew as she was helped into the carriage, forming and burgeoning in her mind as her parents climbed in behind her, each fussing at her in their own ways. She barely heard them. She had finally managed to grab hold of something concrete, some anchor in the violent storm of her emotions that had, she now knew, been raging underneath her bleakness of the past two days. It was a comforting landslide of something white-hot and enveloping.

_Fury__**.**_ She hated Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

* * *

*** **Hope you enjoyed it. :) Please review!


	12. Chapter 10

**A/N:** Hi, readers! Thanks so much for your generous reviews for the last chapter, especially the support I received about the OOC (out of character) thing. You guys are amazing. One request: I get a lot of views, but not as many follows. If you're tuning in for every post, do me a favor and click the "follow" button. It would make me feel really good. :)

So, true story about this post: It seems it's beyond me lately to write a short chapter, & somehow this one is the longest I've written yet. The events here were originally going to be spread out over two chapters. I wanted our beloved couple to work through some things before their wedding, but I didn't want to prolong our pre-marital time. Ergo, it all unfolds in one talk, within one long chapter. Consider it one of my banter sex/eye sex/actual sex _vignettes_, if you will (only, there's no actual consummation here; so stop giving me the one-finger wave, Austen purists). I wrote it in story sequence, which honestly isn't my favorite, but go with it. I've gone through, like, three drafts and at one point I even cried a single tear of blood over this; I'm still not happy with it, but now you know I really tried.

Now that I've disparaged the whole thing, open a bottle of wine, or a beer, or cough syrup, or however you get down, and enjoy! (Or just skip it and I'll see you next time.)

* * *

Chapter 10

Lately, courting Elizabeth Bennet required the delicate combination of a great many cold baths and unsavory images of his parents consummating their marriage in his own bed. Or a scantily-clad Lady Catherine posing lewdly. Usually the latter was most effective.

Darcy stifled a frustrated groan. It had started almost as soon as they returned to Hertfordshire. She had become pensive, and was behaving hesitantly with him. What had been heated and heady in London had turned cold as the winter breeze now that she was home. During the few walks or foyer interludes they had fit in over the past week, she had not been all that responsive to his advances. With their wedding looming just ahead, thoughts of consummation all but consumed him and he was dying for just a taste of her to tide him over. But something was clearly on her mind, distracting her, and she had not been forthcoming with any information. He had left it alone for a while, giving her space and some time to think things over. Lizzy could usually be counted on to share her feelings and be frank when she was ready to. But now, days before their wedding, she was still not sharing (or kissing) and he was done having it without an explanation for why. And so he was resolved to corner her. The only question was, when?

That question was answered for him the very day of his resolution. That night, she and Jane came to Netherfield for dinner. While there, the snow started to fall with a vengeance. Darcy was elated when it became clear that they would have to stay the night due to the riskiness of driving home in the flurry. He knew taking his opportunity to speak to her alone in her room would be highly inappropriate. Yet the need for the act outweighed its indecorum. It was time to get to the bottom of this.

Besides; he could behave himself.

When the house was all abed, Elizabeth was surprised to hear a knock at her door. She knit her eyebrows in confusion, but then concluded it must have been Jane. Who else would visit her room in the middle of the night? When she opened her door to find Darcy there, she was more than moderately surprised.

"Darcy!" she exclaimed.

He bowed and then realized the act was a bit formal given he was at her door in the dead of night, standing across from her nightgown-clad figure in only his shirt and trousers. Sometimes it seemed he was destined to be socially color-blind. Oh, well. "May I come in?"

Her expression was hesitant, but she moved aside to allow him to enter. He closed the door behind him and immediately felt self-conscious about being in her room. Not only were they inappropriately attired, her magnificent curly hair was also arranged in a half-up, half-down style that was as careless as it was alluring. Trying not to think about it, he leaned heavily against the frame (as if it would somehow make him less _in_ her private chamber). "Um," he began. "You…how are you? Well, I hope." _What the blazes kind of stupid question was that, man?!_

Not surprisingly, she seemed even more confused. "Yeees," she said, quirking an eyebrow. "I have not grown _un_well since parting from you but an hour ago."

He nodded succinctly, blinking more than he ought to. "Good." She looked at him questioningly again. "Good," he repeated. "I am pleased to hear that…and your room is comfortable?

She finally laughed. "Yes! It is very comfortable, and I am very well, the question is, how are _you_?"

He sighed, then smiled sheepishly. "I am well…and I am a bit of a conversational idiot."

She grinned. Sometimes he was so endearingly awkward. "Not an idiot, my love. A novice, perhaps. It takes time to learn the art of amiable conversation when you have spent eight and twenty years speaking in primordial grunts and insulting dismissals."

He wanted to defend himself, but she was right. He rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. "I suppose. Has anyone ever told you, dearest, that you are a tad too subtle in _your_ conversation? You really must improve on that. I never can quite catch your meaning."

She laughed. "Well then, I will certainly strive to be more frank, although it is a great deal too unnatural for me."

His expression was troubled. "You would think that recently, yes."

Her smile faltered. "Whatever do you mean?"

He was silent for a moment as he gave her one of his infamous intense gazes. She suddenly felt nervous. Those looks always got her flustered, but she was discovering the effect was amplified when they were by themselves, in her bedroom, in their nightclothes. She looked down and away. It irked him.

"Why are you doing that?" he asked.

She feigned ignorance. "Doing what?"

"You know of what I speak. Why will you not look at me? And why have you been so distant since we returned from London? This evening at dinner and then in the drawing room you hardly spoke two sentences apiece to me. Have I done something to anger you?"

"No!" Feeling exceedingly guilty at having made him anxious, she moved to take his hand. Holding it firmly in hers, she looked him full in the face. "No," she repeated strongly. "It is not you. It is only…" Here she paused. Where could she possibly start? There had been so many things on her mind, and she did not feel comfortable discussing some of them with him. She decided to be evasive. "I have only had much to reflect upon, that is all." There. That should satisfy him; a politic response.

He was not assuaged.

"_Lizzy_," he said threateningly.

Her shoulders slumped. "Very well," she pouted.

Seeing he would have to lead in this endeavor, he kept hold of her hand and walked her to the settee by the fire. They sat down (on extreme opposite sides) and faced each other.

When seated comfortably, she confessed, "I _have_ had much on my mind. It is funny you should ask me this tonight, because I had a most _interesting_ morning which has provided me with some rather perfect examples."

He nodded, all ears. "Please, proceed."

She took some time to collect her thoughts. "Well, I suppose it started right away, at breakfast." As her mind took her back, she smiled with private amusement. "When one sits down to a meal, the primary occupation of your mind probably ought to be nourishment. However..."

* * *

However, sitting across from Mr. Collins tends to drive away all thoughts except the one that reminds you neither to laugh in his blotchy face nor use your paring knife to end his incessant streams of sycophantic logorrhea for good.

"My dear cousin," he smiled at her with leaky unctuousness, "might I be so bold as to compliment you on your appearance this morning? It is a feat indeed to achieve such envious beauty wearing the simple country frocks to which you are accustomed instead of the finer gowns more appropriate for women of a higher station. And yet, my dear cousin, you appear as fresh as a rose. I dare say that in marrying into high society you shall be providing that realm with the brightest ornament it has yet boasted." Here he gifted her with another obsequious, smitten-faced beam that bordered on the vulgar.

Lizzy nearly vomited into her plate.

"I thank you, sir, for your compliment," she said with a forbearing smile. "It is much appreciated…just as it was at the beginning of our meal when you first bestowed it upon me; and upon every occasion since then. You are certainly generous in the _frequency_ of your praises, sir."

He bowed his head humbly. "I thank you for the acknowledgment, cousin. It has been my discovery, upon constant study, that a lady cannot be complimented with too much regularity. Her delicate sensibilities require constant nurturing and assurances, just the same as any frail blossom. I flatter myself that I am a man skilled and ready to lend such assurances and support, and with little encouragement, as I am most on guard to perceive the moment of opportunity for myself."

At the head of the table, Mr. Bennet raised one cynical eyebrow and nodded his approval. "And take the opportunity you do, sir. And indeed, with little to no encouragement. I believe my daughter has neither _hinted at_ nor _asked_ for your assurances even once during our meal, yet you persist in offering them. Your conversation certainly reveals a unique set of talents as I have never seen in any other man. I _quite_ enjoy them."

_(At this point in the tale, Darcy snickered. Call Mr. Bennet an irresponsible father, a belligerent husband, and a lackadaisical landowner; but never a fool.)_

Elizabeth lifted her napkin to her face to hide her smile. Catching her eyes, Mr. Bennet gave her a knowing smirk, turning her red with her efforts to suppress a chuckle.

"Lizzy, are you well?" the wicked man asked her nonchalantly. "Have Mr. Collins's compliments set you to blushing? There now, Mr. Collins. A lady's blushes are always proof of flattery well done. I believe you may now truly consider yourself a gifted man. Would you not agree, Lizzy?"

Choking back a scoff, she shot her father a pleading look as Mr. Collins again bowed his head and offered his humble thanks. Mercifully, Mr. Bennet smiled, digressed, and went back to the paper he customarily hid behind during family meals. Mr. Collins then systematically moved on to complimenting Jane, who was now second in esteem for her less prestigious, but still advantageous match.

Out of danger for the moment, Lizzy looked in her father's direction and gave a sigh. She was, as always, entertained at him entertaining himself at his poor, dumb cousin's expense, but the moment had reminded her of one of the things that had been on her mind: she would miss him. She already did. She had always been her father's favorite for their similar wit and sense of humor. Many times over the years they had shared in quiet jokes about other people's foibles. But ever since her engagement there had been less of these moments between them. In fact, she had seen little of him at all, for as the house became overrun with feminine wedding-planning, he had chosen to hide in his study even more than usual in defense. Looking at him now, she felt the sting of moments lost. Soon she would be Mr. Darcy's wife first, her father's daughter second, and living miles away; and there had barely been time to enjoy each other's company while they could.

It was enough to break her heart just a little bit.

_(Darcy reached over, took her hand, and kissed it. "He shall always be welcome at Pemberly, my love. I will even send a carriage for him, whenever he desires."_

_She smiled gratefully at him. Turning his hand over in hers, she kissed the palm and continued.)_

The regretful thoughts were pierced through by her always reliable mother. "Jane, Lizzy," she screeched from the other end of the table. "Mrs. Phillips informed me yesterday that she has in her possession a set of crystal carafes that were our mother's, and intends to lend them toward the receiving breakfast. I need you to go into Meryton and acquire them from her, for I am weary with all this run around and the Gardiners are arriving on the morrow, so I shall be even more weary with entertaining them, though they will never hear me complain; and it is _your_ wedding after all."

The girls exchanged an amused look and nodded at their mother. "How can we possibly let good crystal pitchers go to waste?" Lizzy asked with a smile. "They are so much better at holding drink than the porcelain ones."

Not long after breakfast, the sisters set out, accompanied by Charlotte. Much as Lizzy preferred to walk, they took the carriage. Walking all the way into town in the cold dead of winter was not a wise idea, especially when one's wedding was less than a week away. She was sure that if she or Jane (or both) caught a cold at this point her mother would turn to petrified wood and burst into irrepressible flames, despite which she would still be able to rant to the heavens about her cursed luck.

_("Although, as I consider it now, I can see how there might be some usefulness in the event," said Lizzy._

"_How so?"_

"_Well, the wedding must be paid for, and most everybody enjoys a good Bible story, no? My family could charge a sum of money for gawkers to see our very own re-creation of Moses' burning bush." Smile._

"_Mmm. One that wails and gnashes its teeth and cries out to Providence for deliverance from evil," observed Darcy. He nodded sagely. "Your sister Mary would be quite beside herself." _

_Giggling, Lizzy slapped his thigh.)_

Resigned to the carriage ride, Lizzy enjoyed chatting away with her two friends until somehow the conversation turned to housewifely duties.

_("How did we get on that subject? Oh, yes. Charlotte was apologizing for her pea-brained husband's flattery and then said that Jane and I would have to get accustomed to it with our new stations. Dear Jane then confessed to being nervous about her upcoming role as Mistress of Netherfield and asked for Charlotte's advice as a homemaker.")_

Charlotte laughed good-naturedly at the inquiry. "My dear Jane, my humble home is nothing in the world to Netherfield or Pemberley. I am afraid any advice I could offer could not stack up to much when compared to what you are taking on. But if you imagine you could glean anything of use from my experience, I will share."

She did share. And what she said of her _many_ "insignificant" responsibilities had plucked at a chord of nervousness that was fast becoming familiar to Lizzy.

_("But why?" asked Darcy. "What did she say? What have you to be nervous about?"_

_Lizzy patted his hand. "We can return to that later, my love. There are more heinous events ahead. I have not yet told you what happened at my Aunt Philips'. Naturally, when we arrived, she asked us in for tea...")_

The three girls drank their tea, listening politely to Mrs. Philips as she nattered on and on about the wedding, the town gossip, the wedding, their great matches, the wedding…Lizzy just smiled and shook her head at how her aunt and her mother were so similar. But then the woman hit on a subject that was frighteningly lewd coming out of her mouth.

"But you know, girls," she said with a suggestive leer. "Having a wedding will not make you a wife. It is what comes _after_ the wedding that will do that." There she waggled her eyebrows.

Lizzy looked around for holy water and a cross. There's never any about when one needs them.

Jane's eyes too, grew wide with wariness. Poor, innocent Jane was the last being in the world who wanted to have this conversation with anyone, let alone her unpolished aunt. But it could not be helped. Aunt Philips launched right in. Although their mother had already prepared them for what to expect, the woman felt the need to repeat all the same information. Her portrayal was less angsty than their mother's, but just as dispassionate.

"Well, Charlotte here can offer verification," she nodded at one point. "She is a married woman now. Do tell them from a young lady's perspective, my dear."

Charlotte looked mortified. "Uh, well…" she began.

_("Oh sweet Lord, you cannot ask me to think of Mr. Collins in that light! Do I have to hear this part?" asked Darcy, covering his ears._

_Lizzy tore his hands away and said, indeed, he had to. "If I could not cover _my_ ears and run away, chanting the comforting rhymes of my childhood, neither shall you.")_

"Well, I – I cannot be sure what your mother has told you," Charlotte said haltingly, "I only know that the advice my mother gave to me has proven true in every way. She said firstly, that my husband would only visit me a few nights out of the week at the most." She half-smiled, seemingly gaining confidence. "And secondly, that when he visited it would be over quickly, and if I simply closed my eyes and thought of things that please or comfort me, like the child I may be creating, then it would pass by even faster and with little discomfort. I find if I can do that, I bear it well enough."

She looked at them with cheerful satisfaction, as if confident in having comforted them. The sisters in turn gaped at her, hoping for a "_but_" that would make the experience sound a smidgeon less dreadful. Perhaps something like "but, sometimes it is a pleasing feeling," or "but, sometimes I leave my body for a time and walk around doing chores until it is over," or better still, "but, sometimes Mr. Collins suffers intense pain throughout the visit, which is enjoyable to watch and gives me the hope that someday the act may kill him." Yet no "but" came. Close your eyes, think of England. That was it.

_(Darcy scooted closer to her. "Oh, Lizzy. Surely you know it will not be that way for us."_

_Elizabeth blushed. "Yes, of course I know that. But that's hardly the point."_

"_Then what is the point?"_

_She blinked at him. "The point is I was forced to endure a horror story which combined William Collins and sexual union.")_

At length, the girls' torture session came to a close. Mrs. Philips, satisfied with having done her duty by her nieces, gave them the carafes and saw them off.

_("And then what? You went home to implement the burning bush idea?"_

_"No, to the mercantile. Charlotte wanted to_ _see about some boot polish for Mr. Collins. Apparently, he'd had a conniption when he realized he forgot to pack any. It seems he likes to shine his boots until he can see his reflection."_

_"Of course. There's no more discreet way to appraise a brown nose.")_

As she browsed the store, Lizzy could not help but notice the stares she was drawing from her neighbors, and the respect with which they spoke their greetings. Despite the fact that she had endured such attention for five weeks, it was still disconcerting to her. Hertfordshire was home; here she was just Lizzy Bennet of Longbourn. That people should view her with such awe simply because of the life she was marrying into seemed just plain silly. She thought back on some of the things Charlotte had said on their ride into town and again felt a twinge of discomfort.

At that moment, she spotted old Sally Hidgeons, the wife of the store owner, smiling saucily at her from her post at the purchasing counter. Lizzy returned the smile with a relieved one of her own. Sally had been a simple farmer's daughter before she too had married above her station. Not terribly educated, but sharp, she had fast become a favorite in Meryton. Good old Sally never got her feathers ruffled over any high-and-mighty personages, especially men. She was as coarse as she was indiscriminate, and a scandalized Elizabeth had heard her say on more than one occasion that beneath his trousers, a great man had the same three assets as any other man: a wee-wee, a pair of bullocks and far too high an opinion of both.

_("I resent that," Darcy glowered. _

_She kissed him on his cheek. "I'm sure she meant that comment for all men, __excluding__ you.")_

As Lizzy approached the counter, Sally affected a deep curtsey. "Mrs. Darcy," she teased.

Lizzy rolled her eyes with a laugh. "Not Mrs. Darcy, not yet, and please do not even start. You shall have all your patrons doing the same in a matter of minutes."

Sally scoffed. "They already are. Look at the lot o' em, cowerin' as if they 'aven't known you all yer life. S'enough ta make a woman sick, it is. I 'ave a mind ta fire my gun, and set 'em ta just pissin' their pants already; if they get it out o' their systems maybe they'll come round ta some sense."

Elizabeth laughed. "Oh, Ms. Sally," was all she could say. Her brow crinkled. "It _is_ quite silly, isn't it? _You_ would not view me differently after my marriage, I suppose?"

Sally raised a cheeky eyebrow. "Elizabeth Bennet, 'ow could I ever grow ta fear the child what ran around my store as God made 'er, li'l buttocks cheeks and all, cos she did'n want ta wear the dress her Mamma was fittin' 'er for in the back?"

_("Now there's a pleasing image," said Darcy. "Would you mind re-creating it for me at some point?"_

"_(Gasp) When did my fiancé become such a __rake__?!")_

Elizabeth's cheeks burned. "Oh, Ms. Sally, not that story again!"

Sally chuckled at Lizzy's blush. "Now, don' go gettin' all miss-ish on me, girl. You can't go blushin' at hearin' of nakedness now." She smiled wickedly. "Yer weddin' night's comin' up; I daresay they'll be more'n _talk_ of nakedness then."

"_Ms. Sally_!"

Sally just laughed bawdily. At that moment, poor Jane walked up. "Here now," Sally smiled at Jane. "Here we 'av another bride-ta-be." She leaned in devilishly. "Yer not nervous like yer sister here, are you?"

Jane looked confused. "Nervous, Mrs. Hidgeons? Oh! You mean wedding nerves, I suppose." She smiled sweetly. "I confess, I have them, but I am assured every bride does."

Sally grinned at her. "And that they do, lovey. But look; you've hardly bought nothin'. Let me interest you in some rose water, Jane, my girl. Wear it on yer weddin' night; you'll smell lovely enough to make yer young man bay like a hound dog."

* * *

Darcy let out a guffaw. He covered his mouth to try to suppress his mirth, but to no avail. "I must become acquainted with this woman."

Elizabeth swatted at him again. "Stop that! "'Twas not amusing! I shall forever remember that moment as the time I learned Jane can turn the same exact shade of red of Bingley's hair. Poor, poor Jane."

Darcy calmed and took her hand again. "Is that the end of your story, my love?"

Elizabeth nodded. "I suppose. When we returned home, 'twas to a madhouse, but there is nothing abnormal about _that_."

He tilted his head. "As amusing as your tale was, I must confess I am still at a loss for what has been bothering you."

Elizabeth sighed. "You are such a male. Were you not listening to the overriding themes in the day?"

He shrugged. "I was listening to the overriding _humor_ of the day. Does that not count?"

She shook her head. "I shall have to train you," she said, almost to herself. "Anyway, it all comes to this: when we were in London, I was so very ecstatic to see you. After nearly three weeks of being apart, the days we spent together were as if a dream. Everything – our time in the park, going to the theatre, the family dinners you endured for my sake…our amorousness…" Here, she blushed. "They were a heady delight. I hardly cared a jot about a thing because I had _you_. I think being in a different environment, away from home, contributed as well."

"Contributed to what?" he asked.

She sighed. "To…making me forget myself, I suppose. Now we are back here, in the place where I have always simply been Lizzy, Thomas and Fanny Bennet's girl. Yet I am not just that girl anymore. I am preparing to move away, and the people I have known all my life are already becoming strangers to me; they are already seeing me differently. Even my own father. Everyone insists on emphasizing how much responsibility I shall have, or deferring to my upcoming illustriousness. That is _not_ why I chose you."

She looked petulant. It was adorable.

But then she looked at him, her eyes serious. "William," (oh no; it must be serious; she had _never_ called him that before) "I love you. I can hardly wait to be your wife. But I am wary of…of…disappointing you. Or making things more difficult for you in the society to which you are accustomed. We have seen that we are not quite accepted amongst your peers. Even your own aunt and uncle have refused to come to our wedding, and Lady Catherine stands as an entirely different subject on her own. I am certain those nattering ninnies at the opera were saying that a country girl could not fulfill the duties of the great Mistress of Pemberley. I have to confess, I worry myself about fulfilling that role. From what I learned from Charlotte, even life as a parishioner's wife holds many responsibilities, yet they are not half so heavy as mine shall be. I should be desolate if you found me lacking."

Her words pulled at his heartstrings. "Lizzy, my Lizzy." He brought himself closer to her, putting his arm upon the settee behind her, enclosing her within his body. "I am sorry for the things you feel you are losing. I can only hope that you will find new delights in your life with me. As for your other concerns, you need not worry yourself. If those in my social circle do not accept you, they do not accept me. You shall be a part of me, Lizzy; you already are. We shall create our own happiness, and all the rest of the disapproving world can go hang themselves. As for your new responsibilities, I have every confidence that you will be a wonderful mistress of my home. You are sharp and capable, caring, responsible, and sensible. You will do very well."

He cupped her face in his hands. "Yes?" he asked. She bit her lip as she looked at him, shrugging with a half-smile. He looked at her lip as she bit it, then back into her beautiful eyes, filled with apprehension. It was so unlike her. He wanted to comfort her, to make her forget her worries.

"Lizzy," he breathed. The urges he had been longing to satisfy over the week swelled up (tempting another part of him to follow suit).

She looked at him with wide eyes, anticipating his thoughts. He saw her face flushing, noticed her breathing quicken. But then, as always, mirth came through for her. She laughed and grabbed his chin in her hand. "Darcy," she coached, looking merrily into his eyes. "You are so exceedingly _intense_ at times. We really must get you off of looking at me as if I am your next meal."

He gazed at her lips. "It is because of the things I want to do to you. You haven't the slightest clue."

She shook her head and looked down. "That is not true. I believe I have the general idea." She looked back up at him with a devilish smile. "If you had been connecting the dots you would have noted the other overriding theme of the day was conjugal duty. It seems people cannot get enough of reminding me that it is just that – a duty. One I shall have to simply endure. And yet..." she paused.

"Yes?" he asked, sidling even closer to her.

She swallowed, feeling the heat from his body. "Oh, please do not think ill of me. I – I quite enjoy your attentions, William. Which brings me back round to feeling nervous about being your wife. Would you – would it be quite unseemly for a great woman to enjoy her marital bed with her husband?"

In answer, his eyes darkened. "_No_. In fact, you have been entirely too miserly with your affection lately, Lizzy," he said. His voice was low, his gaze, piercing.

She smiled. "You are being intense again, my love."

To that, he made no answering apology. If anything, his gaze intensified and his eyes grew even darker, revealing a feral need that she had never seen from him before. With a not unpleasant shock, she realized he was _leering_ at her. She swallowed again, but leaned towards him. "Still," she said softly, "I am willing to be more genero-"

Her words were cut off by his mouth on hers. She quickly pulled him toward her, fisting his shirtsleeves in tight bunches. The kiss they shared was decisive and hot. Quickly, her hands moved to his neck while his moved to clutch her lower back. She sighed into his mouth as he kissed her deeply, feeling herself falling into something that felt a great deal like coming home. Easily, their lips fell into an erotic rhythm. Each kissed the other slowly and heatedly, communicating all the fierce desire they felt. Darcy felt her tongue against his lips and he groaned as he permitted it access. As his tongue met hers, a frisson of excitement moved in a shockwave to the area of his groin, and he felt himself respond immediately.

Pulling her closer to him, he gently slid her further down the couch so he could lay atop her. Burying his hands in her hair, he continued to kiss her senseless. Groaning, he moved to kiss her neck while he ground against her. She moaned at the feeling. She had recently been educated on just how what he had in his trousers was meant to come into contact with what she had under her dress, but _this_ feeling – _this_, no one had informed her of. She longed for him to do it again. He did, and her hips instinctively arched to meet him.

"Oh, Lizzy," he growled.

They stayed locked in the embrace for an amount of time neither could possibly guess. In that interval, every undulation of his hips was met with her own, until she found herself with hips halfway off the cushions, all but welded to the hardness she felt in his trousers. Darcy felt wild with desire and kissed and undulated against her with a fury, spurred on by the deliciously maddening sounds she was making. Somewhere in his hazy consciousness he knew he had never wanted anyone as badly as he wanted her in that moment. That thought, and the itching in his hands to explore where they shouldn't, broke through his lustful haze to his conscience. Their first time could not be during a secret rendezvous in the middle of the night, in a room at Netherfield, on a settee. She deserved better.

With Herculean effort, he broke off their kiss, burying his face in her neck to collect himself. "Lizzy, I have to stop," he moaned.

Elizabeth was dreadfully disappointed. She loved what they were doing, loved the feeling of his hard body pressing her into the cushions, and the delightful pangs of pleasure he brought her when he moved against her. Yet she knew he was right. Slowly, they both focused on calming their need, though neither moved from the embrace of the other.

When he was finally collected enough to look at her again, she beamed ebulliently. "I have just had a thought, my dear," she said. "At this time next week, I shall be your wife. And then we will not have to stop."

He grinned widely, kissing her neck before placing his forehead against hers. "And I shall be the happiest man in the world."

Tenderly, he finally extracted himself from her embrace. Kissing her once more, he rose to go. He turned when he reached the door. "Lizzy?" She looked up at him expectantly. "Thank you for sharing your worries with me tonight. It meant a great deal to me that you took me into your confidence."

Her eyes grew soft. "Thank you for listening. It meant a great deal to _me_ that you cared to."

"Of course. I love you, darling."

"And I love you. Goodnight."

Once outside her door, Darcy looked at his hand and sighed. "One more week, old friend. And then you retire."

* * *

**A/N: **I know that was like a whole story in itself. Thanks for sticking with it. Next chapter, wedding bells will ring...


	13. Chapter 11

**A/N: **Haha, so I am officially going to stop apologizing for _anything_, because every time I do it seems I'm 100% wrong about what will or won't make you curse me to the heavens for the newest travesty I call a chapter. That being the case, you're _welcome_ for the last post, and here's one just as long!

Now. *Sigh* Are you ready? They're getting married today! I loved writing this scene. They're so adorable (and hot for each other), they practically wrote it for me. Enjoy. (And P.S. to YepitsMe, I have a little something in here for you ;))

* * *

"_It's a beautiful night_

_We're lookin' for something dumb to do_

_Hey baby, I think I wanna marry you…"_

- Bruno Mars, "Marry You"

Chapter 11

The day of the wedding dawned bright and beautiful on a winter wonderland. Stirring, Elizabeth became aware of a still-sleeping Jane beside her. The number of wedding guests taking up lodging in their home had made it necessary for her to surrender her room to the Gardiners and bunk up with Jane for a few nights. The situation bothered neither sister in the least. In fact, the following night had found the brides-to-be staying up as late as they dared to on the eve of their wedding, talking of their lives to come. It had been a giggling, merry affair of shared secrets and sighs until their mother poked her head in and insisted they go straight to sleep. She would not have her daughters looking like sluggish, baggy-eyed creatures of the deep for their wedding.

Now a bright-eyed, lazily smiling Lizzy lay fully awake, looking fondly at her favorite sister and then to the view outside. Jumping out of bed, she hopped girlishly to the windowsill to admire the pristine white snow with disbelief. Although not a superstitious person, she allowed herself one indulgent, giddy thought about the perfection of the scene outside and its _obvious_ correlation to the day itself. How could it not be so? Today she became wife to the love of her life. The day would be perfect for that alone.

Quietly, she crept to the servant's bell and pulled it, then met Mrs. Hill outside the door to request a light breakfast of scones and some tea be sent to her room. Mrs. Hill met her with a curtsey and an embarrassed, fond smile. She had never breathed a word of it to anyone, but Miss Elizabeth was by far her favorite of her mistresses, even more so than sweet Miss Jane. She enjoyed the young woman's spirit, and the way she always spoke to her with amiable politeness. Fighting the urge to gush to her about the happiness of this day, she simply nodded dutifully at the request. Still, Lizzy saw the housekeeper's affectionate joy and responded with a grateful pat to her arm, a knowing smile, and a murmured thanks.

Once back inside the room, she slipped into the bed and playfully poked her cherished sister in the ribs, teasing her awake. Jane stirred slowly, blinking her big green eyes several times before she stretched and smiled sleepily at her.

"My beautiful Jane," said Lizzy with an answering smile, "you must awake. For today you become Mrs. Bingley."

Jane's eyes lit up and she beamed luminously. "And you become Mrs. Darcy."

The two young women stared at each other before bursting into a fit of giddiness, squealing and kicking their feet against the bed like little girls. It was going to be a beautiful day indeed.

Breakfast soon arrived, and they sat on their windowsill to eat and gaze out at the snow. They talked also about their one shared regret upon the joyous occasion. As exciting as the day was, they both already felt the loss of the other deeply.

Grasping Lizzy's hands, Jane begged, "You will write to me, Lizzy, won't you?"

Elizabeth squeezed her sister's hand in return. "I will write you quite often! Too often; Fitzwilliam will have cause to complain, I shall spend so much time at my writing desk, penning letters to you. And you must write me back! I will want to hear all about your new life as Mrs. Bingley."

Jane beamed. "I am sure I shall be the most content creature in the world. But Lizzy, Charles has said he does not expect to keep Netherfield for long and will be pleased to look for a new estate once we are wed. He desires I should be happy where we settle, and shall seek my approval on every prospect. I have told him my only wish is to be as near to you as possible."

It was Lizzy's turn to smile radiantly. "That would make me very happy too, dearest Jane! I dare say it would also make your Mr. Bingley very happy. Though I cannot claim to be as sane as most people, I believe I would make a less burdensome neighbor than other members of our family. My poor Jane; in deciding on which relation to live nearest to, you have a choice between the harpy mother, the mulish sister, and the worthless rake of a brother-in-law. If I were you, I should go with the mule too."

"Oh, Lizzy," was Jane's only reply. (That she said no more than that was enough indication of her agreement.) Hands clasped, they continued to talk about whatever came to mind until their door burst open, revealing one very frantic Fanny Bennet.

"Oh girls, girls, why do you sit here as if you've nothing in the world to do today?" Mrs. Bennet wailed. "You must get up and prepare yourselves! Oh! You shall both be the death of me. How fortunate you are to have a mamma who has planned everything to the point of pain for your sakes, else you should not be ready to face your men in any state of respectability. Up now, up! Hill! Oh, where is Hill?"

Hill rushed in and, thank the Lord, was followed by an ever-composed Mrs. Gardiner. Calmly, she took her sister-in-law by the hands and quietly laughed. "Dearest Fanny, there now; there is plenty of time. We've no need to be to the church for several hours, and you have done a most excellent job of planning every last detail. It will go very well." Turning her by her shoulders, she faced the mother toward her daughters. "Look there; there are your girls. They shall be such beautiful brides today. Each has made an excellent match, and done you proud. There is much to be grateful for in that, yes?"

On cue, Mrs. Bennet's theatrics reversed directions, and she pulled both her daughters into her arms. "Oh! Yes, of course. My girls, my girls! You are to be brides today, and shall leave your old Mamma to sit and pine for you whilst you become great women. You shall sit in your great houses and do the Bennet name proud, but how I shall miss you!"

Elizabeth hugged her mother back. Melodramatic as the display was, she knew the woman possessed no other capacity for expressing herself. It was as genuine a display as she could hope for; she was touched. Mrs. Bennet pulled back, her eyes moist, and touched her daughters' cheeks.

"Well now," she sniffed. "Let us get you ready! Hill, you must start on Miss Elizabeth first; she shall need more preparation than dear Jane."

Lizzy sighed. Tender moment over.

* * *

A frowning Mr. Darcy stood before a mirror in a preparation room at the Hertfordshire church. "Harken, that is tight enough. I must be able to breathe in order to say my vows," he said drily.

His valet looked up at him placidly as his fingers continued to work on his master's cravat. "Sir, it is always my job to make you quite the best put-together man in the room. On your wedding day, that responsibility is two-fold. You shall be most pleased with the results, I assure you."

"Not if I am dead from lack of air," mumbled Darcy.

From a chair in the corner, Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed. "Who knew you could be such a pansy, Darcy? It is fortunate you were born into an estate and wealth as an only son; you would never have cut it in the army."

"Richard, if I could glare at you, I would. As I am unable to turn my head, I shall settle for simply telling you to avail yourself of the window at your left; jump through it as you choose. I am sure I could find myself another groomsman in the event of your untimely death."

The colonel put his hand to his heart. "That hurts, Darcy. And here I thought I had a special place in your heart. A little Richard-shaped hole, if you will. To know you could fill it with most anyone wrings tears from my eyes."

"Richard, do something groomsman-like, like make yourself useful. Go find Bingley, perhaps. He is likely to be the red-topped heap of hyperventilating human flesh in a corner somewhere; use your second-son army skills to revive him."

"I heard that," said Bingley from the doorway. "And I resent it. I'll have you know I have only vomited once this morning, and now feel perfectly composed."

Richard wrinkled his nose. "Truly, old chum? I do hope you took care of your breath. Poor Miss Bennet."

Bingley threw him a face. "Of course I did, Richard. Did you think I would do that to my angel?"

"Richard, you are sure you have the rings?" asked Darcy, changing the subject. "If we arrive at the altar and it happens you have forgotten them, I will personally see you to the window." While Darcy spoke, Bingley discreetly put a cupped hand to his mouth and checked his breath.

"Yes, Cousin, I have the rings. I have checked thrice, each time at your goading," said Colonel Fitzwilliam with a roll of his eyes. He snickered at Bingley. "And I saw that, Butter Buns."

Bingley started. "Damn you, Richard. Wha – _Butter Buns_? Why would you call me – " His eyes widened. "Darcy, did you tell him what I said upon learning of your engagement?! Why must you tell Richard, of all people, the stupid things I say?"

Darcy turned so Harken could help him shrug into his jacket. "Bingley, an easy way exists for you to avoid such situations. Simply stop saying stupid things. Richard and I can then have no cause to laugh at your expense."

Richard nodded and held his palms up with a shrug. Bingley scowled. "You two certainly have a way of building a man up upon his nuptial day."

"Perhaps not," said Richard. "But we do have a talent for tearing one down."

When Harken was satisfied with his appearance, Darcy dismissed him and turned to Bingley. "Butter Buns aside," he smiled, "are you ready, old friend?"

Bingley took a deep breath and nodded. "I want you to know I count it an honor to share this day with you, Darcy."

He put his hand out. Darcy shook it, gripping Bingley on the opposite arm with his other hand. One would think the quick man-hug that ensued was all Bingley's doing; but in fact it was Darcy who pulled his friend to him for a clap on the back. Bingley looked surprised, then beamed.

Then of course, the two men promptly separated, cleared their throats, and manfully straightened their jackets.

"Aw," Colonel Fitzwilliam cooed. "Now," he said, rubbing his hands together, "if you two are quite done making love to each other, I propose we find you both a shackle and a Bennet girl."

The grooms looked at him resentfully, but nodded. The colonel walked to the doors and opened them with a flourish. "Gentlemen; let's go have a wedding."

* * *

As the glorious day unfolded, all Darcy could remember of the ceremony was how his throat had constricted and his heart had exploded with joy at the sight of his Elizabeth being led down the aisle by her father. She was marvelous. She looked more beautiful than he could ever recall, her dress was elegant, and her poise was refined. He blinked back tears. She would make a remarkable Mistress of Pemberley.

She would make a remarkable wife.

He remembered also, turning slightly to Richard, adoring eyes still transfixed on his bride, and saying, "If I have not said so as of yet, I thank you for standing by me today."

The colonel, though touched, looked at him strangely. It was an odd thing for his cousin to say in the very same moment his radiant bride was walking toward him. (And, oh, was she fetching.)

"I would thank you also," the helplessly besotted groom continued, "if you would inform your parents of their missed opportunity to observe quite the most beautiful bride they could ever see."

With new understanding, the colonel smiled and nodded. "That I will do, Cos. And without a jot of insincerity."

Elizabeth herself remembered feeling nervous and jittery from the time she walked into the church till the time the doors opened for her and Jane to enter the sanctuary – at which moment she saw Darcy. Every fear, every sense of anyone else in that building had faded away, replaced by impossible joy. She remembered the sense of him throughout the procession; the tangible feel of his masculine presence as he stood beside her; his deep, strong voice ringing out across the church as he recited his vows; his loving eyes as they gazed at her when he put his ring on her finger, and the way he held her hand for longer than was necessary before squeezing it and letting it go. It had filled her with such happiness, she was forced to remind herself to stay solemn as the gravity of the occasion required, when in truth all she wanted to do was shout from the rooftop, "This is indeed happening, I am _marrying_ my Darcy!"

She refrained.

After the ceremony, the couples and their guests all repaired to Longbourne for the celebratory luncheon. The supper was a joyous, crowded, loud affair. Everyone was vying for the attention of the newlyweds. Each couple tried their best to return the attentions of their guests, but it made it difficult to breathe a word to each other. The only times things calmed down enough for one voice to be heard were during the toasts – which were many, and some very diverting – and the exchange of gifts between the couples.

Bingley and Darcy were very pleased by their gifts. Darcy in particular was touched at the personal nature of Lizzy's gift to him. Perhaps it was more traditional for brides to darn scarves for their new husbands, or make handkerchiefs, as Jane did for Bingley. But the bookmarks Elizabeth made him were beautiful in their intricacy and thoughtful in their origin. He would treasure them forever.

His gift to her, of course, exceeded hers in grandeur. And cunning. He had somehow obtained Jane's cooperation in a scheme to secret away the topaz cross she wore almost daily. When she noticed it had gone missing, for the first time in all their history Jane had told her darling sister a fib. Well, not exactly. She had simply not stated the truth and offered the very political response of, "I am sure it will turn up soon."

Upon learning of her angelic sister's deception, Elizabeth was both shocked and absolutely delighted. Especially when the payoff of the scheme turned out to be well worth the bother it had caused all involved. For once securing the cross, Mr. Darcy had sent it to a jeweler in London and had the modest silver chain and clasp replaced by a string of flawless white pearls and a small sapphire clasp the same shade as the stone. It was a lovely piece, yet understated. She too was touched by the thoughtfulness exhibited by him in having it made for her. He must have known the necklace was quite symbolic. It would forever embody what she now was – the mistress of a grand estate who would always proudly own her simple country roots.

Not long after the gifts were presented, the couples arose to make their aways. Bingley and Jane had only to travel to Netherfield to start their honeymoon, but the Darcys had nearly twenty-five miles to go to their house in London. On their way to their respective carriages, each newlywed was spun this way and that to kiss this friend or that family member so many times they hardly knew when they were finally seated. When Elizabeth discerned she _was_ actually seated, she turned and craned her neck to see Jane's radiant face. Catching her eye, the two shared one heartfelt glance that said it all, and blew kisses to each other.

When she turned back around, Lizzy found herself staring into her father's face. He stood right at the carriage window, eyes moist. She could not help growing teary-eyed herself. Her father _never_ cried. He was every bit the stoic Englishman in that respect. She leaned out the window and kissed his cheek. When she righted herself, he grabbed her hand and kissed it. An understanding went unspoken.

Darcy, witnessing this display, leaned over Lizzy to catch his father-in-law's eyes. Mr. Bennet nodded at him. "She is yours now, Mr. Darcy; take care of her."

Darcy returned the somber nod. "Till the day I die, sir."

The carriage began a slow roll, and Mr. Bennet stepped back to join the line of other well-wishers. Lizzy wiped a tear from her cheek and waved sadly at him, then extended the wave to the general assembly. The carriage picked up speed, and soon the cheers and farewells were fading into the distance. Elizabeth watched the landscape of her childhood home fly by, her hand held tightly in Darcy's. At length, he pulled her to him and put his arm around her. She looked up at him and smiled through her tears.

"Hello," she laughed.

"Hello," he responded with a chuckle. "This day has been the very picture of a whirlwind, I feel as though I have hardly shared a word with you. Except perhaps a vow or two thrown in at odds and ends…"

She gave another faint smile which faded into a wistful look as her favorite meadow rolled by. He wiped a tear from her cheek and stroked it. She looked at him gratefully and shook her head. "You must think me an ungrateful wench. Forgive me, William. I am quite the ninny, to weep on such a happy day."

He shook his head. "Make no apologies, dearest. I perfectly understand."

She reached up to cup his cheek. "Truly, I am overjoyed beyond words to finally be your wife." She beamed. "Your _wife_, Darcy! Never can we be parted again."

He smiled and kissed the tip of her nose. He wanted to kiss her hair, but her pretty, lace-trimmed hat was in the way. "Lizzy," he frowned. "Lovely as you look, I am desirous we should make ourselves more comfortable. There's many miles to London."

She raised an eyebrow. "How _comfortable_ are you imagining us being, sir?"

He gave a sensual grin. "I would not be opposed to getting on with our honeymoon as long as we are here, alone. These curtains _are_ meant to be drawn, my dear."

She jabbed him in his stomach with her elbow and he grinned again. "I shall not be _that_ comfortable with you in this carriage, _Mr_. Darcy! But I will oblige you and remove my hat."

She did so, and he "mmmed" his pleasure. "Thank you, _Mrs_. Darcy. Much better."

He pulled her to him again, this time kissing her curls. She looked up at him, her head resting comfortably on his shoulder. He took the opportunity to trace her features with his fingers. As he looked at her, his eyes softened with adoration. He was silent as his fingers continued to stroke her features, as if cherishing every one. "You are so beautiful, Elizabeth," he finally whispered. "My God, _so_ beautiful."

Lizzy knew the last thing she ought to do at a romantic moment such as this was laugh.

But she was Lizzy, so she did it anyway.

Shaking her head at him, she chuckled, "Darcy."

He anticipated her thoughts. "Am I being intense again?"

"Just a smidgeon," she said. "But," she grabbed his chin, "it is _very_ cute, so you have my endorsement to continue."

He feigned injury. "Well, now you've laughed at me, I do not wish to. I shall revert to old habits and say I suppose you are _tolerable_, but not handsome enough to tempt _me_."

She shrugged nonchalantly. "No offense taken here. I'm inclined to laugh at the opinions of one as _insufferable_ as he is _arrogant_, and rate his estimation as on par with a hill of beans." Her expression grew mischievous. "Besides, sir, you are quite too _tall_ for my taste – "

"How fortunate, for you are too short for mine."

" – too _dark_ – "

"Says the woman who appears as an Ethiopian in the summertime."

"– too _lean_ – "

"Ah, we cannot all have the breasts of a fertile springtime deity."

"(Gasp) and too _forward_!"

"Madame, if I am forward, you are a charging brigade of Huns set to pillage and ravage with no more weaponry than a sharp tongue and the brazenness of a streetwalker."

"What a way to talk to your bride!"

It was his turn to shrug. "As my bride's disposition lies somewhere between a biblical _Jezebel_ and a shrewish Kate Minola, I feel not the slightest hint of remorse. It is only fortunate for her I have not set her over my knee for a paddling."

She sighed and shook her head. "So this is our marriage. I dare say we are not off to a promising start."

With a grin, he leaned in for a kiss. She made a show of struggling, placing her hands on his chest and pushing herself back. He grabbed her elbows, forcing them to yield, and locked them against him. Ignoring her squeals of protest, he continued his attempts to kiss her as she thrashed her head from side to side, just barely avoiding his lips.

"Yield to me, _shrew_!" he commanded laughingly.

She laughed and increased her efforts to escape his grip. He only chortled again and pushed into her, crushing her against the plush, cushioned seat. Having nowhere else to go, she finally grinned at him in acknowledgement of surrender. His breath hitched at the sight of her so bright-eyed and playful. He loved her spirit so much.

He leaned further in and she finally allowed him to kiss her, her hands rising to hold him by the back of his head. Their playfulness continued through the kiss, tongues dashing into each other's mouths only long enough to tease before retreating. She bit his bottom lip and sucked it, making him groan and pull her more firmly to him. Her hands buried themselves in his hair, fingers running softly through the curls. She giggled as his lascivious hands brushed the sides of her breasts. Smiling against her mouth, he repeated the maneuver, making her giggle again and arch slightly toward him. He was delighted beyond words that she was not offended, but amused by and responsive to his desire. If this was any indication of how she would respond to his advances for the rest of their lives, he would be a most satisfied man.

Emboldened, he cupped her generous bosom in both hands and squeezed, continuing to kiss her. She sighed and pushed into his hands. He felt ecstatic. He worshipped her breasts, and had almost since the first moment he noticed her. They made him nearly wild with desire every time he allowed himself to (covertly) ogle them. To know they were his to do what he pleased with for the rest of his life was _rousing_ to say the least.

That thought moved him to quickly close the curtains on either side of the carriage. She quivered in anticipation of what he meant to do. The curtains secured, he took her back in his arms and kissed her demandingly, his tongue pushing past her lips without so much as a by-your-leave. She moaned at his insistence and reciprocated. As their tongues danced, his hands again found her breasts and resumed their attentions. He moved to ravish her neck with wet, hot kisses, and she sighed and let her head roll back against the seat.

"Is this pleasing to you?" he asked, his voice muffled by his lips upon her skin. Lizzy could only nod very (_very) _weakly. His lips moved down her neck, to the hollow at its base. There, his tongue snaked out to explore, earning another sigh from her. As his kisses traveled downward and his destination became clear, her color rose. The first contact of his lips against the tops of her breasts was searing. When his tongue delved into the crevice between her cleavage, she bit her lip and pushed into his still-occupied hands, silently urging him to continue. He did, but soon became frustrated by the obstacle of fabric. What the hell kind of right did fabric have to get in the way of paradise?!

He looked up at her, eyes hungry. "May I?" he asked huskily.

At first her foggy mind was at a loss for what he meant. As the meaning of his request registered, her blush deepened. "Should you? Should we? Here in the carriage…"

His eyes were on her bosom, watching his hands which were still kneading. "We are alone, with the curtains drawn," he whispered. Licking his lips, he glanced back up again. "I only want to touch."

She bit her lip, then nodded before she could overthink it. Immediately, he reached for the delicate pearl buttons at the front of her dress. Unbuttoning just enough of them, his hungry hand delved in to finally, finally cup the soft flesh of one breast in his hand. He growled at the feeling; she gasped.

"You are so soft," he whispered.

With his thumb, he began to tease her sensitive tip. She whimpered. She had not expected it to feel so _good_! Pulling the flap back a bit, he bent his head to kiss her flesh. As his kisses traveled, his urges escalated and he asked again, "Oh Lizzy, may I?"

Somehow, she managed to laugh. "I thought you declared you only wanted to _touch_, sir?"

He groaned. "Regarding that, I wish to change my request. I am now quite desirous to do more. And I am certain denying your husband on his wedding day is tantamount to an unforgivable sin."

She rolled her eyes. "It is hardly on par with blasphemy," she muttered. Still his dangerous mouth moved across her, drawing closer and closer to the hardened tip still pinched between his fingers, endeavoring to destroy her will. She gathered her resolve and gripped his hair. Forcing him away from her breast, she caught his eyes. His hair was wild and mussed, his eyes, needy. He looked almost savage. She _felt_ almost savage.

There was a great deal of savagery in that carriage.

Taking a deep breath, she shook her head at him and pushed herself up, her hands reaching for her buttons. "We cannot, not here, my dear. It is much too easy to progress further and further, and a carriage is no place for that."

He blinked several times, looking dumb, as if his vacant mind was struggling to fill again (which it was). Finally, he sighed heavily, his expression petulant. She saw it and held his head in her hands, kissing his nose. "Do not be such a _child_! We have only to wait for tonight!"

He frowned at her hands moving back to her gown and watched as she fastened the last of her buttons, shutting away his newfound toys. He scowled. "I feel nothing like a child. I feel very much like a mature _man_ who wants to do very naughty things to the irresistible _woman_ before him. If only she would stop being so miss-ish!"

Despite his petulant words, he moved to tuck her against him in the carriage corner once again. She smiled impishly. "First I was a Jezebel, now I am miss-ish. Poor man; what a frustrating tease you have married."

He harrumphed. Still smiling, she whispered in his ear, "Never fear, my love. I intend to make it up to you in excess tonight. Would you desire your Jezebel to make an appearance then?"

Despite himself, his lips upturned at her words. "Indeed, I would," he said smugly.

She raised an eyebrow and kissed him. A sort of merry war broke out then as the incorrigible man reciprocated her kisses while attempting to return his hands to their sentry at her bosom. With every attempt, she giggled against his lips and slapped his hands away. At length, the defeated groom gave up and caught enough of her infectious cheerfulness to return to his former good spirits. With a great, theatrical sigh that made her grin, he re-opened the curtains. Grin still in place, she settled her head more comfortably against his shoulder. Running her fingers across his jaw, she kissed his chin. Breezily, she asked, "Why can you not be more like this in public?"

He looked horrified. "Dearest, I am sure fondling my wife's delicious breasts in company would be a most titillating experience for me; however, it would probably also end in the two of us being thrown out on our rumps by a highly offended society and blacklisted from every social function for the rest of our lives."

She laughed. "No, I do not speak of _that_, obviously. I meant why can you not joke and smile with others as you do with me? You always appear so somber. 'Tis no small wonder I thought you such a proud, disagreeable man for so long. You are so beautiful underneath that formidable exterior." She stroked his face with a content smile. "You ought to show it off."

He kissed her fingers as they passed by his mouth again. "Why would I do that when I can save it all for you?"

Her expression grew suddenly serious. "Promise me something," she murmured low. His eyebrows shot up at her tone and he waited. "Promise me," she continued, "that this will be how it is between us for the rest of our days. I desire we shall always be laughing and teasing and loving and showing ourselves completely to one another. I want us to be more than husband and wife, or master and mistress, parents, or lovers even. Promise me we shall be _friends_, always."

He placed his forehead against hers. "I shall be the best friend you have. Always."

Satisfied, she snuggled closer to him. They stayed like that through most of the ride, laughing, teasing, and cuddling (the last of which _did_ occasionally lead to Lizzy having to laughingly fend him off again).

When at last they arrived at their London home, he hopped down the stairs and turned to help her follow suit. Her feet on the ground, she looked up at the splendid house and let out a hesitant sigh. It was so grand. Already the housekeeper stood outside the door to greet them, and she saw through the open door that a host of other staff were lined up to be presented to their new mistress. She felt that familiar twinge, but it subsided when her husband squeezed her hand.

His eyes dancing, he asked, "Shall we go inside, my wife?"

She squeezed back and nodded, then ascended the steps with him. Ready or not, here came life as Mrs. Darcy.

* * *

Across the street from them, a carriage was stopped, and had been for some time. The women within, a certain blonde and another, were waiting for the happy couple to arrive.

When she saw Darcy alight from his carriage and take his new bride into the house, Josephine could not help the tears that rolled down her cheeks. "He looks so happy," she observed. Her voice broke at that last word, but she resisted the urge to break down into sobs. That was over. There was too much at stake for her to lose herself to sorrow. Still, she felt the heartbreak of the moment keenly.

A pudgy hand reached out to pull the young girl's head to her shoulder. She stroked her curls. "I know, lovey. The little wench has him all but under a spell. There's nothing to be done about that now. But let us put our heads together; we shall surely make a plan."

Josephine leaned her head into the woman's shoulder. "I _hate_ her," she mumbled.

The woman laughed softly. "Let the trollop enjoy him now, sweetling. They'll no doubt repair to Pemberly soon, but when the Season calls them back to London, I shall have you prepared for what must be done. Do not I always take care of you?"

Josephine looked up at her, her expression solemn. "Yes." She peered back toward the house, where Darcy was at that very moment beginning his honeymoon. She felt her fury rising at the thought. Her eyes hardened. "Yes, you do. _Always."_

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry, guys. Couldn't let you forget Josie's always there, hovering like a black cloud over a beautiful landscape. But hey, at least next chapter's _landscape_ will involve a great deal of Marvin Gaye and role playing (who wants to be the _doctor_? *Waggles eyebrows*). And no Josephine. (Jane Austen + kinky threesomes = Sacrilegious. Even I wouldn't go there.) Please review!


	14. Chapter 12

**A/N: **Hello everyone! It's a lazy, rainy Saturday evening here in Florida. A perfect time to post a new chapter for you to enjoy, whenever you feel so inclined. I give you a _long_ (_looong_), complete wedding night, in two parts and three acts: Anticipation; Consummation; Pillow-talkation. :) If straight-up, unapologetic E&D googly-eyed, teasing, and rambling romance bores you, you're screwed (seriously). Otherwise, you're golden.

Just a forewarning, this chapter is MA (Mature Adults only). Enjoy, because it won't get this graphic again. _"Let's get it on…"_

* * *

"_I SING the body electric,_

_The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them,_

_They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them,_

_And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul."_

_- _Walt Whitman_, _"I Sing the Body Electric"

Chapter 12, Part A

The chamber pot alone could have paid for a Cambridge education.

Elizabeth Darcy sat in her new copper bathtub, an apparatus so large she was sure to drown in it someday, and marveled. It was enough to consider that her new suite as the mistress of the Darcy townhouse was _massive_. When Darcy first showed her in (after the greeting extended her by nearly twenty staff members; why on earth one townhome would need so many servants was beyond her), she'd had to school her expression so as not to show her panic and awe. She had never seen quarters so grand, let alone lived in any. Everything from the ornate paneling and crystal candelabras along the walls, to the exotic, expansive rug sprawled before her own_,_ _enormous_ fireplace, to the canopied bed with its linens of fine silk, was beyond what even her anxious mind had imagined. Still, she had reminded herself that she had known life as a Darcy would be grand, and endeavored to begin her acclimation to the reality forthwith.

But the chamber pot? It had to go. Truly, who in their right minds needed to relieve themselves in a _solid gold_ pot?! She would speak to Darcy about the offending object, and then have it melted down to something useful and donated. After a very, very thorough scouring.

She smiled as she imagined his reaction to such a request. Her aristocratic prince would no doubt be repulsed by the idea on the grounds of cleanliness, and just plain befuddled on the grounds of _why_? What was so offensive about a gold chamber pot, he would ask. And then of course, she would endeavor to explain it, he would disagree, and they would arrive at a standstill. It was indubitable. And it bothered her not in the least. Arguments and banter were practically the very foundation of their relationship. In fact, they were the first side of the pyramid that defined what they shared. The second, and most important side, was of course their love. And the third, she was steadily discovering, was _passion_.

Mrs. Darcy felt herself growing warm as she thought of it. Wanton as it probably was, she had meant what she said to him that night at Netherfield: she enjoyed his physical attentions; a great deal (as was demonstrated by her behavior both that night and today in the carriage. Who would have guessed the alternate spelling for _hussy_ was L-i-z-z-y?). The thought of consummating her marriage tonight sent a pleasant, anticipatory shockwave through her, down to the area between her legs. She was ready.

True, she had her little niggling fears, the reasons for which were petty and irksome, and therefore, despised. She did fear that she might not be able to please him, for example. She was sure that he had had other lovers before her (_wenches_, all of them!); what if she did not compare? Also, much as she _detested_ it, she had this small, pathetic qualm over the prospect of pain. She knew that giving even the slightest bit of weight to her mother's or aunt's descriptions of the act was inexcusably silly; and yet their relaying of the _excruciating_ pain, and particularly her mother's earnest suggestion that she take a dosage of laudanum before entering the bedchamber, had alarmed her. She imagined herself dosed up on laudanum, lying beneath a thoroughly horrified Darcy and squealing like a pig gone to slaughter because she was 1.) in pain, and 2.) hallucinating. Perhaps she would imagine her beloved husband was turning into something like a giant rutabaga, attempting to strip her of her maidenhead with a crispy, turnipy male apparatus which smelled like warm soil and felt like spilled salad between her thighs. No, laudanum was not a good idea.

She shook the thought from her head and concentrated on her excitement. For she did feel a delicious excitement, and an eager curiosity. As she stood from her bath and accepted a towel from the maid assisting her for the night, she wondered: did he feel the same? Was he thinking about her as he also made his preparations? Was he excited, not only in anticipation of his own enjoyment, but hers? He _had_ encouraged her eagerness, and seemed pleased by it. Surely he would encourage it again tonight. She flushed as she considered what unimaginable pleasures that could lead to. She knew Darcy, and he always had a perfectly thought-out plan for important occasions. What delights were on his agenda tonight, she wondered with a shiver. She could hardly wait to find out.

She looked over at the corner. But the chamber pot still needed to go.

* * *

When he entered the living room betwixt his chambers and Elizabeth's, Darcy observed right away her absence. _So much the better_, he thought. He wanted to check the adequacy of the room and allow himself more time to gain equilibrium before encountering her.

He shook his head, his cheeks burning slightly. That last part was necessary due to a rather humiliating event which had just occurred in his bedchamber. He shook his head at the recent memory. "You make a fool of me, woman," he muttered.

Determined to set his mind to a useful occupation rather than dwell on his embarrassment, he slowly made his way round the room, checking the preparations Harken had made. The fire was burning nicely in its place, illuminating the sitting area to perfection. He was hoping to pour Elizabeth some champagne and lead her over to the most comfortable settee to start their night.

He thought about the things he wanted to do to her there and felt a strong pulse at his groin. So far, Lizzy's reciprocation of his physical eagerness had surpassed all his wildest dreams, and he could not wait to take her all the way tonight. He had pictured so many times what it would be like. Her flushed face and soft body, their limbs intertwined, her maddening soft moans against his ear. Would she cry his name at the moment of her climax? He had to find out. The sooner the better. But first, he had to set the mood.

He took a step back to critically assess the sitting area and frowned at what he saw. The two antique, wing-backed chairs on either side of the settee were outfitted with tasseled pillows, but the settee had none. How was she to prefer the sofa if it had no pillows? Quickly, he moved to take the pillows and arrange them on the settee. Taking another step back, he frowned again. _Well, now that looks simply stupid._

He moved the pillows back and decided to leave the sitting area as it was. He observed instead the refreshment table. It looked well. He poured her a glass of champagne, then set it down. Then picked it back up. Should he be waiting with her glass in his hand? But that might look presumptuous; and needy. He set it down and poured himself one. Drinking from it, it occurred to him that on the other hand, it might look inconsiderate to have champagne for himself, but none for her. He picked her glass up again.

At that moment, he saw that a candle burning on the table was dripping wax down toward the fruit tray. How could he expect her to eat wax-covered _anything_? Surely that would ruin the mood. He blew the candle out. And sighed. Now the area was too dark. He would have to re-light the candle using the one still burning on the table's opposite end. He was in the process of delicately balancing the candlestick and his champagne flutes, trying to light the wick without any incidences of spilling or burning, when he heard a chuckle.

A very feminine, very entertained chuckle.

He hung his head.

"Might I ask how long you have been standing there?" he said without turning around.

Another chuckle. "Almost from the moment you entered the room. My intention was to say hello, but you were so _busy_, I could not bear to break your focus."

He nodded while setting down the flutes. "Or deny yourself the entertainment of your own, personal jester."

"Mmm, but what an adorable jester. And what an act. You ought to consider putting together a one-man traveling show, my dear. I am certain the juggling alone would sell tickets."

"Perhaps that is so. But you will forgive me, my love, if I decide to leave it at a one-time, private perform-"

He stopped short when he turned around and saw her. His face registered awe and desire, almost immediately. She blushed to see it. "Do you like it?" she asked shyly, holding the skirt of her silk night robe in her little fists.

He did not respond. His mind was too busy drinking in the sensual beauty that was his bride to register her words. He was aware only of her dark hair, curling beautifully into soft waves which spilled down her back and across her shoulders; of her virginal white night clothes that clung for their silken life to her dangerous curves; of the tantalizing, teasing view of her milky white cleavage allowed him by the sharp dip of her neckline; and of her full, cherry lips, her bright eyes that drove him to distraction, and above all, the intoxicating idea that this was all for _him_. She was ethereal, and she was his. His. All his.

He wanted to pounce.

_Control, man; control,_ he reminded himself. Taking a deep breath, he cleared his brain enough to register her question. He collected himself and bowed deeply, respectfully. Straightening, he answered, "You are more beautiful than anything I have ever seen, my love. I believe now I understand what the older gentleman in the park must have felt that day; my heart nearly stopped upon seeing you."

She flushed and smiled. "Well, I am glad it did not," she said shyly. "I would be heartbroken to lose you. And I expect my mother would feel the same; to have her hopes dashed when I was so close to being your wife in truth." She shook her head. His eyes widened at her reference to the consummation of their marriage that had yet to happen. She seemed not to notice. "Poor Mamma," she continued, "back to the starting line she would be forced to drag me. Or to a nunnery." She cocked her head, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Which _could_ be diverting, for a time."

He blinked hard, a tick pulsing at his clenched jaw. Had she truly no idea of the effect she had on him? Staring intently at her, he said in a low, thick voice,"My dear, you shall _never_ be a nun so long as I live. My plans for you are not compatible with such a lifestyle."

She blushed at his words, and at the way he was looking at her. Would he never learn to stop gazing upon her with half-crazed hunger?

She realized suddenly that she dearly hoped not.

He saw her sweet blush, and the appreciation beneath it. Somehow it made him even more enamored of her. He stared at her for a moment longer before forcing himself into action. Picking up her champagne flute, he walked over to her. Reaching slowly for her hand, he locked eyes with her as he brought it to his face, just barely grazing the knuckles with a feather soft kiss. She shivered. He ran his fingers across her knuckles and shook his head. "I am beginning to see my life unfolding before me as one long tease," he murmured, almost to himself.

She arched an eyebrow, feeling a flutter despite her confusion. "Sir?"

He looked over her knuckles at her with hooded eyes. Releasing her hand, he cupped her chin. "Well, you tease me with your words, from this mouth." He ran his thumb across her lips. They parted under his ministrations and he leaned in to gently kiss them. Both shivered at the soft contact.

Slowly, he pulled back to run his fingers across each of her brows and lightly over her eyes. "With your looks from these beautiful eyes, you tease me. They drive me mad, these eyes. Had you knowledge of that?" Mesmerized, she shook her head.

His hands moved to run through her long, soft tresses. "This hair. How mercilessly you tease me with this hair. The way it glints like silk in the sun, or smells like lavender when you sit beside me." He took one long, luscious section in his hand and lifted it to his nose. She trembled as the gesture brought him closer to her. His deep, low voice and his closeness were sending reverberations through her that were making her weak.

His eyes caught hers as he spoke again, "The way those sweet little tendrils which fall against your neck beg for my fingers yet expect I shall keep them to myself. When all I desire," he pierced her with his gaze and whispered low, "is to touch you." He relinquished her curls and leaned across her, to the small table just behind her, and set her champagne flute down.

He had just decided; there'd be no need for it anytime soon.

Taking both her hands, he led her slowly to the settee. He walked backwards, his eyes locked with hers, intent and burning. She could not have looked away if her life depended on it. That gaze alone made her grow moist in her womanly parts, a phenomenon she didn't understand, but intuitively linked to what he was about to do to her. Reaching the sofa, he neither sat upon it, nor freed her to do so. Instead, he pulled her to him and placed a soft kiss upon her forehead. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sweet gesture despite the pounding of her heart.

But then his lips were upon hers, hot and demanding, and his hands were roaming her body. _Really_ roaming, for the first time. She gasped at the feeling. Those devastating hands moved (in no particular order) over her hips, her back, her shoulders, her backside (which he squeezed), her hips again (he really liked those), her abdomen, her ribs, her breasts (more squeezing; he really, _really_ liked those) and back around again. As he explored he spoke. "You tease me with this beautiful body (kiss), which has filled my fantasies and dreams (kiss), for so long a period of time that I cannot remember (kiss) when I last (kiss) did not yearn for you, my Lizzy."

She was finding it difficult to breathe, let alone speak, between his roaming hands and his heated words and kisses, so she simply kissed him back for all she was worth. Soon they were both lost as tongues met and delved, ravenous mouths meeting again and again, until they welded into one seamless joining. Darcy grabbed her backside and pushed his groin into her, groaning at the contact. He felt himself expanding inside his trousers. Before he could lose all control, he separated from her and panted, "I can move slower, my love. If this is overwhelming for you, tell me now. I am such a dunce, and in need of you, but I had _meant_ to take this slower."

Panting just as hard as he, she shook her head from her stance on her tiptoes and touched a finger to his lips. "It is fine, William. I have seen your opening act. If it is all the same to you I would like to learn what awaits me in the main show." She barely cracked a smile.

He groaned and kissed her again. Her permission secured, he wasted no time in untying the sash around her waist and divesting her of her robe. With nothing but the sheer fabric of her nightgown between her and his hands now, he was halfway to heaven. He continued his exploration of her body as his lips moved to kiss her neck.

"William," she half-laughed, half-panted, "I do not believe I shall be able to stand for much longer if you persist in doing such things to me."

Before the words were out of her mouth, he was pulling her onto the settee with him, positioning her astride him as he sat against the back. The position embarrassed her. He kissed her deeply, licking and nibbling at her lips.

"Do not feel embarrassed, my love," he said. "We are married now, and this is our wedding night. You need not be inhibited in any way. I want to bring you pleasure." But what followed after that was not pleasurable for Lizzy.

It was _heaven_.

When she would look back, the memory would be but a hazy, heady recollection of strong, kneading hands upon her breasts, and their subsequent replacement by a scalding tongue and hungry mouth which stole any capacity for thought. She would recall breathing his name in disbelief and need at the moment his hands found the hem of her nightdress, lifted it to her waist and located the spot where she most needed him. She would squirm at the memory of his masterful fingers and their heart-stopping strokes that moved her to grip his hair, fighting her loss of sense until she gave in and simply _felt _something beautiful. She would suck in her breath at the thought of her introduction, her first-ever experience of a nearly unbearable building of pleasure that rose and rose within her until her toes curled and her legs spasmed, her throat releasing breathless moans. And she would smile a secret smile at the memory of the aftermath; how she mewed softly and undulated against him until she was collected enough to simply sink into his chest, barely gasping out one succinct response.

"My _God!_"

That would be upon recollection. Now, in the moment itself, she was barely managing to think.

He kissed the top of her head and held her to him, gently stroking her back. At length, she looked up at him, pure wonderment in her eyes. "What was that maelstrom? What did you do to me?" she asked breathlessly.

He kissed her. "Something I hope to repeat. Often."

She continued to look at him, gazing deeply into his eyes. She tried to identify what she felt after the intensely pleasurable hurricane that had just overtaken her. She felt a beautiful, delicious lethargy; she could name that easily. But on a deeper level she felt…she felt…_branded_. It had been more than just physical, to share that with him. He had given her something no other man ever had, or would. She wanted more of it. She wanted him to take _his_ pleasure now, and make her his wife in every way.

Something shifted between them then. Gone was the frenzied mood from earlier. In its place was but one desire: to experience one another. She leaned in to kiss him softly on his lips. Gently, he cupped her face, brushing his thumbs over her full lips. In response, she took one large thumb into her mouth and bit it. The act was not coy, but loving. She looked at him with such surrender in her eyes that it was his undoing.

"May I see all of you, wife?" he asked softly.

She nodded, caressing the back of his neck. "But take me to your bedchamber first."

He nodded and kissed her. Prompting her to rise, he stood up and swiftly took her in his arms. As he walked with her to his chamber, he enjoyed the sweet, loving kisses she peppered his neck with. How he adored this woman.

When they reached the chamber, he deposited her on the bed then moved to sit before her. They faced each other, each on their haunches. For a time, worshipful hands cupped smitten faces and tender lips danced with eager partners; neither lover felt the need to hurry the moment. Then hands began to slide and explore. Her nightdress was already pooling at her waist thanks to their previous activities, and soon his shirt was being pulled over his head. Husband and wife surveyed what could be seen of the other's body, with humbled reverence. She touched his chest and toyed with the spattering of dark hair there, then moved to run her hands along the muscles of his abdomen. He was beautiful and well-honed, like the magnificent horses he loved to fill his stables with.

"You are so perfect, husband," she said as she kissed his collarbone.

He was having the same thoughts about her. His hands slid over her delicious shape, reveling in the feel and sight of it. Her waist was small enough that his large hands could nearly span all of it, but curvaceous and supple. Her stomach, flat and smooth, was perfectly adorned by her incomparable, pink-tipped breasts (the stuff of legends, those breasts). Her shoulders were elegant, her shoulder blades defined, her neck long and erotic. All this majesty was wrapped in skin as white as porcelain, soft as silk.

"_You_ are so perfect, wife," he answered. "But might I – I need to see all of you, Lizzy. I yearn for it."

With a gentle smile, she lifted her arms. Reaching down, he took hold of the nightdress at her waist and made to pull it over her head. The only moment their eyes lost contact was when the material obscured their views of one another for but a moment. Her dress was tossed to the side, and he took in what had been hidden before with trembling breaths. Her legs were long and lean and what was in between them…he gulped. He needed that spot. Needed it now.

After a kiss to her lips, he moved away from her. Swiftly, he unbuttoned his trousers and pushed his hips off the bed to divest himself of them. She gulped at what came springing up to greet her with its release from confinement. It was larger than had been expected. She had a moment of wondering how exactly the machinations of this act were supposed to be possible when the key would not fit into the lock, but she decided to have faith.

It was a good thing too, because as he crawled slowly towards her, she saw in his eyes that the moment had come. As he approached, she slowly laid back. Gently, he parted her legs. When he was directly over her, he bent to take her neck and position it more comfortably on the pillow. Her comfort was paramount, for he expected this first time would cause her pain. He winced at the thought. He would be as gentle as he could be. But overall, it could not be helped.

He voiced as much and she shook her head. "I care not if it hurts. I want to join with you. I want to be your wife, above all else." She meant it. The fears she had felt earlier were far gone, burned to ashes by the heat of what they were sharing.

She tried to relax as he slid into her, remembering being coached that it would hurt less if she did. When he reached her barrier, she looked at him in silent permission. Without further hesitation, he pushed the last of the way into her. She gasped.

It hurt. Substantially.

She gripped his shoulders as he gently kissed her neck, face, and lips in silent apology. He waited, trembling, as her interior attempted to adjust to his intrusion. After a moment, he began to move, slowly, mindful of the pain she was in.

"Are you well? Shall I stop?" he asked lovingly.

She looked up at him, her expression almost angry. "Stop and I shall murder you," she said indignantly. It hurt, but had she not said she would pay that price? He grinned, kissed her, and continued his gentle movements. She reminded herself to breathe deeply, in and out. Winding her hands around his neck, she found diversion through deep, slow kisses, the kind with which she drank him in. Despite the discomfort, she was in wonder at the intimacy she felt with him. Being with him like this, beneath him, and he within her, felt so right. Like a little corner of destiny.

Over time, she began to feel less pain and more hints of pleasure, though she was sure what had happened to her earlier was not an option, not this first time. So she pushed her hips off the bed and enjoyed what pleasure was hers, but mostly reveled in his own ecstasy, thrilled to be the one to provide it. He groaned and sighed over her in escalating tones that accompanied his increasingly insistent thrusting, until he was panting through gritted teeth and saying her name like a chant. Then he reached fulfillment and jolted over her, gasping out a final, guttural groan and slamming his hands against the headboard as the feeling shot through his extremities.

When it passed, he kept his hands where they were, fearful of overwhelming her should he let go and collapse. But she would not have it. Cooing, she reached for him and he gladly went, allowing her to cradle him against her sweet form.

He had never been so fulfilled in his life.

"Lizzy, I love you," he whispered.

It was all that needed to be said.

* * *

When the lovers' blood had cooled, he slipped out of her and reached to his nightstand for a handkerchief he had purposefully laid there. She was at first mortified when he began to gently clean her with it, but he quieted her with a soothing "shh."

"It is a beautiful act, lovemaking, but an untidy one," he said with a smile. "Particularly upon a woman's first time." When her brow remained troubled, he frowned. "I want to do this for you, my love. Allow me?"

She relented (she could never deny him when he looked at her that way). Once she was "tidied up" and the offending handkerchief had been disposed of, she happily snuggled up next to him. She felt so very content…and sleepy. She was very sleepy. But she could not bear to close her eyes and miss a second with him upon this occasion. So she stifled a yawn and stroked his features as he lay there gazing at her. For his part, he was hesitant to break the silence, but needed to know if she was well.

"How do you feel?" he asked, already wincing at the possibilities. He had seen up close the amount of blood she had let. As sated as he was, he felt terrible at having caused her pain.

She smiled dreamily. "Like yours," was her answer.

He sighed happily. "You are not...uncomfortable?"

Kissing his neck, she shrugged. "There was pain, and I feel twinges still, but 'tis nothing. I am your wife now. That is worth any price."

Before he could bemoan her pain any more (and she knew it was likely he would), she kissed him soundly on the mouth, then spattered kisses across his face. He smiled and accepted her assurances. They were silent again as they lay beside one another, stroking and caressing, each marveling once more at the feel of their lover's body. When fatigue began to set in for Darcy, he was not as inclined to fight it as his wife. He was planning on taking her again tonight, many times, and as soon as possible. He would need to rest to stay energized. She watched as he began to drift off, gazing at him peacefully. She thought about how silly it was to be pleased beyond words simply to watch him sleep. And yet, there it was.

Before he could be beyond answering her, she spoke quietly. "William?"

There was a quiet, responsive grunt. He was already asleep.

She brushed his hair away from his face. "How do _you_ feel?"

It took a moment for him to respond. Then he whispered drowsily, "Like _yours._"

She beamed. Kissing his chin, she burrowed deeper beneath the covers and draped an arm over his waist. She didn't even notice when she fell asleep.

* * *

Part B _- _Snippets of a Wedding Night

Darcy awoke a few hours later to the sound of…munching. He opened his eyes, blinking back his grogginess. Before him sat his wife, a delectable vision sitting cross-legged and nonchalant in his shirt. On her lap was a tray of fruit and sweets.

She grinned at him. "Good evening, husband. Apple?"

He laughed and sat up to accept the fruit. He _was_ starving. Taking a bite, he asked, "What time is it?"

She shrugged. "Late."

Fully awake now, his eyes roved over her. She looked so damn enticing in his own large shirt, the sleeves rolled up several revolutions so as not to drown her lily arms. He licked his lips as a different hunger began to consume him.

Unaware, she cheerfully prattled, "It was very wise of you to have food standing by for the night. I could barely touch my dinner. I found I had _other_ things weighing on my mind." Blushing, she gave him a significant look. He gave her a sexy grin, his eyes glinting with satisfaction.

She averted her eyes with a delicate clearing of her throat. "That aside," she said, her voice faltering a bit – it was incredible, how affected she could be with but one glance from him – "There is the matter of embarrassment. I am sure I would have been mortified if we had had to send for nourishment in the dead of the night. Your staff would surely have known _why_ we were so in need of sustenance."

He smiled sensually again and responded, "Firstly, dearest, it is _our_ staff. Secondly, why should it embarrass you for them to guess what we are about? Surely you know they are already well aware of what a bride and groom do on their wedding night." The thought set him to ogling her again. He was beginning to have a decidedly physical reaction to their talk and the presence of her very available body.

Seeing his look, she swallowed. As they had earlier, his burning eyes were causing a wet reaction in her most secret of places. Wide-eyed, she offered him a bite of her pastry (God help her, she didn't know what else to do!). Barely glancing at the fluffy French confection, he shook his head. Taking it from her and placing it back on the plate (which he then swiftly removed to the side), he chucked his apple and huskily dictated, "_Later_."

She whimpered.

* * *

_Later._

They lay entwined in the sheets. He, of course, was blissfully sated. She was _woozy._ He had worked that unbelievable magic with his fingers again, making her writhe in a frenzy until he could wait no longer and joined with her, to the immense pleasure of them both. And indeed, there _had_ been more pleasure for her this time! She expected with excitement that with a few more tries she would revel in the act in the same way he did. The idea made her toes curl.

Darcy played with her hair, feeling no inclination to speak in that idyllic moment. As her mind cleared, she, loquacious little creature that she was, did not hesitate to do so, and in the most random manner possible.

"What was the name of the maid that was assigned to me tonight?"

His brow furrowed. "What?"

She smiled and tweaked his nose. "My maid tonight. I never caught her name. She did an excellent job with my hair – _you_ certainly seem to be enjoying her work – and I should like to thank her by name in the morning."

He looked at her incredulously. "Wife, does that truly matter at this moment? Why would I spend this time educating you on the names of the staff, when I ought to be whispering endearments in your ear?"

She wrinkled her nose in disinterest. "You could do that, I suppose, but it would be a bit repetitive and silly, would it not? What can there be left to say that we have not already _expressed_?"

He blinked at her, then pinched the bridge of his nose, laughing stoutly. "You are a rare woman, Elizabeth."

She chewed her lip. _Has he had so many women that I could be called rare in comparison?_ Immediately, she pushed the thought out of her mind. Nothing would make her unhappy, not tonight, in her nuptial bed. "Her name?" she insisted.

Again, he looked at her curiously as his hand roved her shape. "You are the most sociable person of my acquaintance. How is it you spent an hour in your room with a woman without learning her name?"

She blushed, entwining her hand with his. "The circumstances were a bit too awkward, William."

He smiled at her blush, and was moved to kiss her nose. "I cannot imagine why, dearest."

Though grateful for the kiss, she looked at him incredulously. "You cannot imagine how it might have been difficult to converse with a _stranger_ who undressed and bathed me (viewing me in all my naked glory), helped me into a set of sensual nightclothes, and arranged my hair, all in preparation for me to enter into the next bedroom and have carnal relations with _you_?"

He laughed. She looked at him earnestly. "Really, Darcy, what was I to say to her? _'Hello, I am called Lizzy. Thank you ever so much for the preparation. Now please excuse me, I must go __roll across a bed with_ _your master.'"_ He laughed again, and she smiled, shaking her head. "That is, I suppose, one way to make an impression, darling, but I'd just as soon let it be."

Darcy shrugged. "I think such a greeting would have suited perfectly. She had seen _these_, after all." He cupped her breasts with a playful leer, and she chuckled. "That knowledge gained, there really was no sense in tiptoeing round her reason for assisting you. She had to have known I would thoroughly ravage you. No man can resist such enticement."

He bent to kiss her breasts and she sighed happily. "The name, though, darling. What was her name?"

He tried to think; it is very difficult to do with half a perfect breast in one's mouth. "Um…Elsa, I believe. You ought to have known that, she was introduced with all the others."

She laughed. "Yes, one among the whole lot of _twenty_! Why this house is in need of so many servants is beyond my reasonable guess."

He shrugged and continued his attentions to his toys. She lay back and reveled in his ministrations. "When do we leave for Pemberley?" she asked lazily.

He sighed and moved his fingers to her womanly folds. She gasped, her back arching. "When will you cease your questioning and pay mind to the more important matters at _hand_?" he asked with a devilish grin.

* * *

_Hours later._

"Why do I make a fool of you?"

Darcy blinked. Lizzy was adorable, sensual, intoxicating. But God knew he could never follow her haphazard thought process. "What?" he asked, swallowing the last of his bread and cheese. Before them on the bed lay empty platters, the evidence of their high energy-consuming activities of the night.

She sipped her champagne, looking at him astutely. "When I was observing you before you knew of my presence in the sitting room, you murmured that I make a fool of you. Wherefore art thou foolish?"

He smiled at her use of outmoded address, but blushed at the prospect of telling her what had happened in his room earlier.

"Why is it of consequence?" he tried to divert her. At her adorable crinkled eyebrow, he gave in some and said, "You just, um, make me behave foolishly."

Narrowing her eyes at him, she leaned over to set her flute down on the table beside his enormous bed. "That answer does not suffice, sir. I must demand as your wife to know what you meant by such a statement."

He huffed. "Our marriage has not been consummated for the entirety of a night and already you are playing the demanding wife?"

She arched an eyebrow. "I agreed to be your Jezebel for a time. I made no promise the shrew would not also make a re-appearance."

He smiled, but remained tight-lipped. She poked him in the ribs. "Out with it, sir."

He seemed to consider it, then smiled rakishly. Removing the trays to the table, he lay back on his pillow and casually folded his arms behind his head. "What shall you reward me with if I do?" He waggled his eyebrows.

She laughed. "Incorrigible man! Very well," she said, moving to straddle him. (It was incredible how it felt so natural, to do that. Lovemaking certainly had a way of doing away with physical barriers.) Immediately, he reached for his shirt (he loved that she seemed to have adopted it) and removed it from her, groaning appreciatively at her nubile form. Saucily, she lay down upon him and undulated against him as her tongue snaked out to lick his lips. He groaned again and tried to pull her closer to him, but she resisted. "Out with it, or no more!"

He sighed. "Fine, you minx," he muttered. In short, succinct sentences, he explained how he had stood in his room after finishing his toilette, trying to compose himself before seeing her. Looking into his mirror, he had found it necessary to voice (out loud) a warning to the man he saw there. He had told him, in no uncertain terms, that he must not pounce on his beloved bride, lest she bolt at a run from his bed, never to return. He advised his reflection to exercise control and patience. After his speech, he had felt better.

And then was faced with Harken, whom he had forgotten to dismiss before his little self-tutorial.

"Oh no!" she said, bringing her hands to her mouth to cover her laugh. "My poor husband! To look as a lunatic in front of your own valet. But surely Harken understood, don't you think?"

"Dearest, it matters not if he understood. I am the master of this house, I do not suffer looking foolish in front of any member of my staff with good humor, particularly in such a private display."

She thought that a bit pompous, but said nothing and instead asked him how he had handled it. His answer sounded to her like basically he had done a lot of hemming and hawing and masterly things that emphasized his position and then haughtily dismissed the man for the night.

"Mmm," she said, wrapping his curly forelock around her finger as he stroked her back. "And so you proved to be the _Master of Pemberley_ indeed." She said his title with a deep, burly voice. He fixed her with a stare, which of course, only provoked her further. "Yes, the Master of Pemberley was _composed_," she grinned. "He was _forbidding_. An embarrassing situation with a trifling servant could not ruffle him. Never! Like a proud lion strutting through his domain was he. Did you also relieve yourself upon the spot, to mark your territory, as I have seen some dogs do? That would have been a truly masculine, _Master of Pemberley_ exhibition. I melt at the thought alone."

She fluttered her eyelashes. He glowered. She quirked her head. "Oh, no. He frowns. He is displeased, the Master of Pemberley."

He continued to stare at her intently. She began to worry. It seemed she really had displeased him this time. She began to formulate apologies in her mind; but then felt something rising against her thigh. Tall, proud, and happy. She swallowed.

His hands came up to hold her face. His gaze piercing, he said hoarsely, "I _love_ it when you tease me."

She was flipped on her back in a heartbeat.

* * *

_Around dawn._

"(Yawn) Darling, I never did ask you how you find your quarters. Are they suitable to your taste? You have every license to change them if not."

"(Laugh) Of course they are suitable! I feel as if I am a queen with all this splendor around me." She had a thought and frowned. Quickly sitting up, she looked down at him.

"But we need to talk about my chamber pot."

* * *

**A/N: Phew!** OMG. Please review. I feel like I just ran a half-marathon...


	15. Chapter 13

**A/N: **What's up, dear, wonderful readers! Thanks for your reviews for chapter 12, I'm so glad you liked the never-ending wedding night. ;) In reading _this_ post, please keep in mind that the past three chapters have been all butterflies & rainbows, kicks n' giggles, and D'aww E&D love. I ask you to remember that and be satisfied with it for now, because this one is kind of unpleasant, and even mean. But I wanted you guys to be prepared for what E&D will face in the _ton_. I consider this chapter to be the end of Part I of the story, so it's got some crucial factors for moving the plot forward, and unfortunately, no E&D. :( _But_ there are elements I'm dying to hear your thoughts & suppositions on (especially what you think of a certain character unveiled here). Honeymoon love & life at Pemberley await you in the next chapter (yay!) but for now, enjoy a great deal of kitty claws and hissing, the birthing of a scheme, AND the return of Thomas Chadwicke, the horn-dog we love to love (or maybe just hate). ;)

One more thing: I adore Lizzy & Darcy. Please trust me in that as you bite your nails over where this is going. _"Have a little faith in me..."_

* * *

"_Meekness: Uncommon patience in planning a revenge that is worthwhile."_- Ambrose Bierce, American journalist (_d. _1914)

Chapter 13

Thomas Chadwicke was a hound dog indeed. But he flattered himself that, contrary to popular belief, he was a discriminating hound dog. Not just any woman was an acceptable bit of wax to dip his oft-used wick in. He had his preferences. The bustier, the better, for instance. And he never diddled with a girl under the age of fifteen (well, there was that one time; but that hardly counted, as _she_ had turned out to be a _he_; one must be specific in one's leanings at certain establishments, or mix-ups like that occur). The point is, he had standards.

And _this_ woman was far below them.

"Please tell me she is not dining with us tonight," he whined to his aunt. "I cannot be expected to enjoy my food and look upon her at the same time. I might vomit the contents of my stomach all over your fine china, and ruin my favorite trousers. They're _Italian_; and cost more than she would on a slave market."

Lady Miriam laughed and patted her nephew's cheek. "She is only here for the moment, Thomas. I expect the gargoyle of a sycophant has something to whisper in Josephine's ear. She had better say it quickly and be gone, for I cannot look upon her for long either. Indeed, she hurts my eyes."

"I do not understand why you keep that hideous woman around as it is, aunt," Thomas pouted, watching as Josephine and her companion whispered in low tones in a corner. "I cannot abide an ugly woman. I find her offensive, and tend to blame her simply for existing."

Lady Miriam shrugged, noticing that a candle was out on the refreshment table. "It is for _dear_ Josephine's sake," she answered distractedly.

Motioning to a footman, she signaled that he should re-light the candle. "Am I mistaken, or is it not _your_ job to notice such things?" she asked the man sharply. He bowed and murmured his apologies, then lit the candle. Lady Miriam waved him off impatiently, dismissing him back to his place at the edge of the room. "Idiot," she said with a roll of her eyes. "Really, what do we compensate these people for?" Thomas merely sniggered and picked up a grape, biting into it.

"The ogre?" he reminded her.

"Oh, yes. Darling, do not ask _me_ to explain. I cannot for my own precious life understand it, but your cousin is so _attached_ to her. I should just as soon toss the unsightly thing out on her rear; it is not as if she serves any true purpose for us anymore. Josephine no longer needs a nurse, and heaven knows I rarely allow her to be seen in public with our family as a proper companion. But Josephine pouts at the very idea of losing her, which of course means your uncle insists we should keep her, and I cannot bother myself to fight it anymore."

Her nephew screwed his nose up in repugnance, saying, "_Comme c'est étrange _(how odd). I should think my cousin would have finer taste than that. I suppose I shall just have to take every opportunity to harrass her about it now. In the meantime, I encourage you to pick your armor back up. For _that_ woman is…" He barked and then bayed like a hound dog, earning another entertained laugh from Lady Miriam. The woman in the corner snapped her head up at the sound, and then glowered at the young man with squinty eyes. Thomas flinched dramatically and twirled to hide behind his aunt.

Ducking, he said in mock fear, "I think it saw me. Make no sudden movements, aunt. I cannot protect you if its woolly mole grows ravenous and becomes desirous of an _hors d'oeuvre_."

The two beautiful people laughed at her expense, and Ms. White endeavored to ignore it. She would not be shamed and bullied out of the room, not when she had to inform her Josephine of something.

There is a difference between planning and scheming. Lady Miriam, for example, had _planned_ the holiday dinner the family was enjoying that evening, and invited the Fitzwilliams to attend. The newlywed Darcys had _planned_ to leave town for a holiday season and honeymoon period at Pemberley, and had done so two days ago. Colonel Fitzwilliam was _planning_ to join them there after a few fortnights, to attend the ball they would throw to celebrate a new Mistress of Pemberley.

Ms. White was _scheming_ to use it all to her mistress's advantage. She was a cunning woman; perhaps even more so than her conniving young charge. And if she knew anything, it was that wars were won by time well-spent; by strategy and spies. She would ensure her mistress won her war.

Dipping her head and motioning Josephine nearer, she said, "Listen now, dearie. You must get your cousin alone when you can…"

* * *

Colonel Fitzwilliam hated these dinners. They were just extremely uncomfortable. He envied his brother, Cyril, who had the excuse of a newborn daughter for him and his wife to stay at their estate in Matlock. It was not fun to attempt to be the only civil conversationalist at a table wrought with tension. For these happy holiday dinners were nearly always attended by people who hated just about everyone else in the room.

At times he made a game of it. It was a fun little guessing game called "Who Shall Have Their Face Torn Off Tonight?" The game was diverting because the answer to that question always depended on the dynamics of those present; _why_ they didn't like other guests, and just _how much_ they hated them; was it enough only to spit in their food when they weren't watching, or would they employ an actual weapon to get their point across? Tonight he knew he could count on the ever-present tension between his mother and her sister-in-law, Lady Miriam, who were extremely competitive in any and every area they happened upon. However, the result of such a contest was usually quite predictable. Lady Miriam could have single-handedly saved the English nation from Napoleon's forces of Frenchie demons, and first place would still go to Lady Matlock, for _she_ had given her husband _sons_, while her rival's lone _daughter_ was practically on old maid. It was a delicate affair, insinuating these facts; but Lady Matlock had it down to an art, and could usually escape with but a scratched face.

Also sure to deliver tonight was his good father; a devout English nationalist who despised Sir Chadwicke for his indifferent political opinions and never could resist needling him about it. On the rare occasions Richard's uncle, Byron Chadwicke, and his French wife graced them with their presence, conversation very nearly came to blows. Richard had actually been relieved when he arrived and learned the couple had found an excuse for their absence in a previous engagement; drunken holiday brawls were the worst to break up.

And of course, there was Josephine, who was always charming but shallow, and simpered and smirked with their vulgar cousin, Thomas. Another story all on his own.

When the party had entered the dining hall, Colonel Fitzwilliam had gritted his teeth at seeing that the seating arrangements put him directly next to his incorrigible fop of a relation. The colonel could hardly stand him. And Thomas was, at the moment, doing nothing to persuade him otherwise.

"And how goes the army, old boy?" the self-declared playboy asked him as he daintily sipped his wine. The man actually had his _pinky extended_ as he drank. Richard felt he should punch him for it; what sort of man did that?

"It goes well," he answered with false amiability. "I have been on leave recently, but I expect I shall spend some time with my men after the Christmas season. I miss it. I cannot bear to be idle." He glanced sideways at Thomas. "And useless."

Thomas nearly choked on his wine at the jab. How delightful; a gauntlet on the ground! "Yes, I imagine so," he said with an eager smirk. "That must be a great comfort to you, to actually enjoy your work. What a pity it would have been, if you had been first born and could live more comfortably. How suitable for you to be the _second_ son." He sneered.

Richard just smiled and shook his head as he took a bite of his pork. He would not give his cousin the satisfaction of bristling at the barb.

Thomas looked at him a moment, then laughed and clapped his hands in amusement. "Oh, Colonel, you _are_ diverting! But, I am weary of this already; we mustn't fight like streetwalkers over a corner! Let us be friends. There is something I am dying to know, _friend_, and you must be amiable and tell me."

Richard looked at him warily. The last thing he wanted to do was chinwag with this dandy boy. Besides, he had forgotten his knitting needles at home; didn't refined ladies need those when they gossiped, so they could both sow _and_ skewer each other at the same time?

Leaning in, Thomas said with a conspiratorial smile, "I understand that you have spent parts of your leave attending rather scandalous weddings. _Quelle émotion, oui? _(What a thrill, yes?)" He waggled his coiffured eyebrows.

The colonel sighed. He ought to have guessed it. "You must be referring to the wedding of my cousin, Mr. Darcy. Yes, it was a thrill to _stand by him_ and witness the start of a happy union. The lady is well worthy." There; he would give him no more than that.

But Thomas's smile broadened rakishly. He would not be put off so easily. "So I saw from her premiere at the opera several weeks ago. She was..." He let out a low whistle with a wink. Richard cringed. "I am sure I can see why your old boy fell so hard. I could barely keep my hands off her sitting half a theatre away. Quite the honey pot. Fancied a taste, did you?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam looked at him disdainfully. He was used to such talk from his soldiers, but this man called himself a gentleman! "I am sure I do not know what you mean," he said with as much civility as he could muster. "As I said, the _lady_ is worthy. Beautiful, yes, but a paragon of virtue and goodness. She is a friend. I would thank you very kindly not to speak of her in such a way."

Thomas didn't seem to get it. Putting his hand on the back of Richard's chair, he poked out his lower lip. _"Oh, non!"_ he said, _"_I have offended my honorable cousin! But how cute you are, Richard. To defend the lady's honor against a randy prattler's tongue. Well, pay me no mind, sir. I only say the things other men are thinking but have not the mettle to say. For in truth, you cannot tell me you would not ride her given the chance. I am sure _I_ would pay well for a go at those breasts alone."

Richard had had enough. "Lay off it, Chadwicke! Or you shall get a good boot up your arse!" He spoke louder than he intended to, catching the attention of the others at the table. Lady Miriam looked between the two, taking in Richard's glower and Thomas's delighted grin. She smiled wickedly.

"What have you said to him now, Thomas? You must forgive my nephew, sir. He thinks not when he speaks. There is a disconnect between the place his moral civility is formed and his mouth."

"Or I have no such place," Thomas said with a wink.

"That could be it, too," Lady Miriam acknowledged with a nod and a coquettish sip of her wine.

Colonel Fitzwilliam was red with anger and embarrassment. He despised losing his temper over such a fool. "Forgive me, Madame, for my outburst and my language. Mother, Father, Josephine." He nodded his apologies.

Lady Miriam laughed and waved her hand glibly. "There is no need to apologize! Truly, I am grateful for the entertainment. What _are_ you two boys speaking of? Enlighten me, for I grow bored down here." Lady Matlock, who was sitting next to her, shot her an offended look. Lady Miriam's mouth curled up at the corners, but she kept her eyes trained on the young men.

Thomas straightened in his chair, shooting a churlish grin at his cousin before facing his aunt. "Nothing, really. We talked of the colonel's noble service in the army. Of his plans for after Christmas. And, oh!" He snapped his fingers. "His recent attendance at that one fellow's wedding; what _was_ his name again?" He tilted his head, affecting deep contemplation.

Lady Miriam smiled brightly. "Ah! Perhaps you speak of Mr. Darcy of Pemberley and Derbyshire."

Her nephew smacked his forehead dramatically, feigning enlightenment. "Of course! Silly me! Yes, _Mr. Darcy_."

"I believe he is a nephew of my dear sister and brother here," his aunt said, turning to face Lady Eleanor.

Lord and Lady Matlock stiffened. "Indeed, he is," the lady answered icily. She knew too well where the bitch was going with this.

Lady Miriam's smile was predatory. "Yeeees. I thought so. He has been wedded recently, no? And I hear, to a rather unsuitable young lady. In fact, I remember seeing the tart at the opera some weeks ago. The besotted man could hardly keep his hands from her; shameful!" She giggled, then turned to Sir Chadwicke. "Do you remember that, my dear?" Her husband opted not to answer, looking instead at his boiled carrots with uncommon interest.

"_I_ remember!" said a gleeful Thomas. "I was just telling the good colonel how I should have liked _my_ turn; what a lovely creature she was; if a bit rustic-looking. She _does_ hail from the country, after all. Likes to keep _bees_, I am told. Nothing like country honey, right, Richard?" He shot another evil grin at him.

Richard rolled his eyes, imagining himself facing the sod on the battlefield. Would he piss his pants _before_ or _after_ he ran him through? "I asked you to lay off it, Thomas," he said evenly. Thomas pursed his lips into a smirk, but raised his hands in resignation.

Lady Miriam, however, was not done. "Ah, but he is right; she is not a member of the _ton,_" she said with a sympathetic shake of her head at Lord Matlock. "What a _pity_. But country stock is not entirely hopeless, I am sure. Surely she has _some_ connections."

Lord Matlock frowned severely. "She has few to speak of, as I understand it," he answered tersely.

His sister-in-law raised a satisfied eyebrow. Colonel Fitzwilliam pinched the bridge of his nose in agitation. How many times had he had this argument with his father? "But she is a fine woman," he stated wearily. "My father would not _know," _he said, looking straight at the man. "He has not even met her. And Mr. Darcy loves her; I should think that would be the end of the matter."

Lord Matlock bristled and looked away, biting into his bread. Lady Miriam scoffed. "Of course. Love and a sweet disposition are so much more _useful_ than a dowry."

The colonel smiled sardonically and sat back in his chair. "Perhaps not more useful; but love certainly makes for a happier future. Few people are happy in marriages of social consequence." He looked around him. "I am sure I know _none_."

There was a stilted silence for a moment in which the only noise was Sir Chadwicke clearing his throat uncomfortably. The only person left grinning was of course, Thomas. What an entertaining evening this had turned out to be!

Eventually Lady Matlock smiled thinly, falsely, and said to her sister-in-law, "You can see my son is a dreamer. But we _do _find such comfort in him anyway. How fortunate we are in our sons, and our hope that they will marry well. Cyril already has, and we know Richard will not disappoint us. How much more difficult this time would be, should we have had no sons; and only _daughters _to comfort us." She sipped her wine innocently. _Take that, bitch._

Lady Miriam looked ready to spit on her. With a sugary smile, she answered, "I am glad you have that comfort. I expect you need it, now that you have lowly tradesmen as connections. It does my heart good to see you handle the _irrevocable_ pollution of your name with such grace. In fact, I drink to you. Cheers!" She lifted her wine glass to the other woman and sipped from it. Lady Eleanor's eye twitched; there was surely some violent fantasy playing out in her head. At her side, Lord Matlock had turned red.

The table again grew mute with silent simmering and simpering. Richard was disgusted. These people represented the pinnacle of civilized society? _Merry Christmas, indeed. _He once again felt a pang of jealousy towards Bingley and Darcy for finding such genuine, artless wives.

But then an unlikely voice rang out in an unlikely defense.

"I too saw the new Mrs. Darcy at the theatre," said Josephine quietly. "She seemed a lovely girl. I even met her once before, at a dress shop. She was quite amiable. I liked her very much. Despite her lack of connections, it seems to me Mr. Darcy has made as good a match as any. I should not think it a discredit to have her in the family at all." She kept her eyes modestly lowered, but there was resolve in her voice. Richard was impressed.

Once more there was silence, this time filled with surprise. _Nobody_ had expected that out of Josephine. Ergo, nobody knew what to say. Eventually Sir Chadwicke, expending his daily allowance of thinking, came up with a new subject. Clapping his hands, he said, "Right! I think that is enough of that. Tell me, brother, what think you of the king's illness?

Thomas brightened and answered in the earl's stead. "Yes, no more talk of love and matches; it bores me! Let us hope instead for old George to finally go boots-up and give the son a go at the whole king thing. I am such a fan of the younger George; he's the only royal who knows how to throw a decent party. Drinks, opium, loose women, and a good chance of memory loss; a damn fine way to spend an evening!"

That earned an upbraiding from Lord Matlock for the young man's crassness as well as his flippancy towards his king, which led to a diatribe about the fate of the monarch and those damn Frenchies. Tense though the new topic was, it's introduction successfully ended the snotty attack against the new Mr. and Mrs. Darcy. Richard opted to stay silent throughout the rest of the meal, sickened by the idea of entering into any more conversation with his revolting relations. Josephine caught his eyes and smiled sympathetically. He tipped his glass at her in acknowledgement of his gratitude. It seemed he had misjudged his young cousin.

But perhaps it was more like he _underestimated_ her.

For later, when the heroine would suffer a swoon in the drawing room and require an escort to the airy portico, history would repeat itself. There was a time Colonel Fitzwilliam unassumingly shared a bit too much information regarding Darcy's personal decisions to another curious young lady, and with disastrous repercussions. As his disarmingly dreamy-eyed cousin girlishly giggled and asked for all the details of the Darcys' romantic story, he would prove he had not learned much caution from the experience. He would tell her everything he knew.

He would also, on the off chance she was interested, offer her his arm to the Pemberley ball. In doing so, this soldier who had seen the bowels of battle would not even recognize his own defeat by a sweet and cunning enemy. Through the dark he would not catch the cat-like gleam in the ocean eyes or the smug smile on the pretty lips; the manifests of victory.

* * *

Hours later, the household was nearly all abed, the residents therein spent from an evening of holiday cheer. Rebecca White made her way slowly down the stairs after having a long talk with her mistress regarding what she had learned from the colonel. It had given her much to think about.

She was startled when a figure emerged from the shadows in the form of Lady Miriam.

"Mi'lady," the pudgy servant sputtered, dropping a low curtsey. "Forgive me, I did not see you there. I am off to bed...unless there is anything you shall be needing from me?"

Lady Miriam looked shrewdly at her. "_Anything_ I need, Rebecca?"

The servant's face colored and she swallowed. Her lady's tone and manner were making her nervous.

Lady Miriam's eyes grew smug and she said evenly, "I shall only say this once. Do not suppose I do not know what you and my conniving little daughter are about, whispering in corners and having late-night rendezvous. You, ogre, need to remember yourself. You served our family well as a nurse to a younger Josephine, but as far as I am concerned, you are useless to us now. The only reason you still have employment here is because of my daughter's strange attachment to you. _Why _Josephine loves you is a question I cannot answer. For _you_, it is obvious enough. She is young, wealthy, and beautiful, and you have found a way to experience the world through her in a way it never welcomed _you_. It is pathetic, but why should _I_ care? For her part, maybe I never loved her enough, and her father only ever loved the _idea _of her, while your love is genuine. Again; I could hardly care less."

She took a step closer to the woman. It made her wince a little to see her up close. For, God help her poor eyes, she was as ugly as Thomas had said. Sort of like a Medusa, only sans the hair full of snakes and with the addition of a plowman's stocky build; plus masculine facial hair that made her own face itch from looking at it and gave her a headache to boot; and then, of course, there was the skin marred from childhood smallpox, which sort of made her look like walking, talking Swiss cheese. Revolting.

She put that out of her mind. "What do I need from you?" she breathed over the short, stocky woman. Rebecca's eyes were wide. "I need you to stop filling my daughter's head with flights of fancy. Josephine will marry this Season if I must kill to ensure it happens. She cannot spend time she hasn't got mooning over a married man who never looked at her in his life. You would do well to encourage her to let this silly obsession die and see reason. Damned if I shall allow _the help_ to interfere with my shackling the little bitch to the first earl to offer for her. Know your place; or find for yourself a new roof to sleep under."

With that, she swept past her, throwing an airy "goodnight" over her shoulder.

Rebecca stood where she was, seething.

In the years to come, after all the events unfolded, people would still speculate on what drove Rebecca White over the edge of reason, into the realm of dangerous resolution. How could a paragon of servility and pragmatism, a member of an honest Derbyshire family that had always served the Darcys well, have done what she did to Elizabeth Darcy (not to mention the baby)? In Josephine Chadwicke's case, her actions could at least be explained by love. In fact, the story of her obsession with Fitzwilliam Darcy would become too well known to even be scintillating. Rebecca White's involvement, however, would all but stump the gossip mongers and even the authorities. And yet the answer would be simple.

Love, in any form, is a powerful motivator.

* * *

**A/N: **End of Part I. A penny for your thoughts. Remember to have faith in me!


	16. Chapter 14

**A/N: **Hey all! Hooray for completely random Saturday afternoon updates, right?! Seriously though, sorry for the delay in getting this chapter up. This was a tricky one to write, not to mention things in my life have picked up in pace. The good news is, I will officially be a grad student in the fall! Woop Woop! Bear with me, dearest, loveliest readers, if that means less frequent updates. I will do my _very, very _best to get them to you as soon as possible and I would NEVER abandon this story, I promise. Now forgive me for this _Anna Karenina_ of a A/N, but there are a few other things to address:

* * *

**I.**_ Regarding the angst factor: _Guys, this is a romance AND suspense piece – always has been, just with more emphasis on the romance. One of my goals in spending like, half a Tolstoy novel trying to build up to things was to set the stage for Josie's schemes. But: _I'm no sadist _– I just love to spin a yarn! The foreshadowing in the last chapter was an allusion to the climax. Will it be as sadistic as I implied? You'll just have to wait around and find out. (*waggles eyebrows*) But I _will_ say the events along the way will be more angsty than sadistic. And no one's going to be left sobbing on their bathroom floor, in a puddle of their upchucked hummus & crackers at the story's end. Would I do that to you? (*Makes innocent face*) Hey, you may even have to thank the bat-shiz crazy whackadoodles in the end for making our dear couple even stronger. And the epic romance & humor aren't going anywhere either. I hope that helps those of you who are feeling wary. :)

**II. **_Regarding the Chadwicke family tree:_ OK: the older generation is made up of siblings Sir Chadwicke, Lady Matlock (a.k.a. Eleanor Fitzwilliam, née Chadwicke), and their younger brother, Byron Chadwicke (Thomas's father). That makes the younger generation cousins Col Fitzwilliam, Josephine, and Thomas. (That also means Thomas is Lady Miriam's nephew only by marriage. Only you'd never know it, since they're thick as thieves.

**III. **_Regarding this chapter: _OK! Shall we relax the pace now, and get back to the story? Yay! I give you a lengthy beginning to Part II, in which our couple is at Pemberley for newlywed life and preparation for a certain ball. ;) Just FYI, there's some MA sexual content here (I apparently can't help myself). **Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 14

It had been three fortnights since Miss Bennet of Longbourn had become Mrs. Darcy of Pemberley, and if she had learned any vital bit of information in that time frame, it was this:

The Darcy siblings really liked jam.

She sat across from her husband, a small, bemused smile on her face, as he and Georgiana unknowingly performed a comedy to her entertainment. The two siblings simultaneously reached for a slice of toast, placing them on their plates in perfect harmony, before again reaching together for the generous bowl of jam before them. As she continued her silent, smiling watch, brother and sister both hummed to themselves as they spread their perspective _heaps_ of jam happily over their toast, then took one ample bite. Two dark pairs of eyes closed for one moment of savoring before two handsome heads wagged in appreciation. Biting her lip was all Lizzy could do not to laugh.

Completely unaware of the amusement she was providing her sister with, Georgiana looked up cheerfully and asked, "And what are your plans for the day, Lizzy?"

Darcy smiled to himself at hearing his sister using his wife's most intimate name. It had always been his dearest hope that these two women, so precious to him, would become close friends. In the few weeks since he had married Lizzy, that hope had been realized, and then some. Without fail, Lizzy had taken the shy younger woman under her wing and made her blossom. Her discernment and easy affection helped break through Georgiana's defenses while her infectious high spirits brought out her own natural merriment. Georgiana had been through a very rough patch after the debacle with Wickham, and had only recently returned to some semblance of herself. With Lizzy now influencing her, she was once more the dear, content girl he knew. Albeit, a little wiser. He frowned. And more mischievous. (He recalled a certain incident with his favorite cufflinks that had gone missing then ended up in the bottom of his tea saucer, discovered just before he could cover them over with the hot brew. She had carried out the prank under his impudent little wife's tutelage, of course, which incited him to happily and explicitly punish her, through most of the night).

The impudent wife smiled at the mischievous sister. "I must interview candidates for my lady's maid today, actually." She pulled a face. "I confess to being somewhat wary. My sisters and I shared but one maid for such purposes. I should know very little as regards what qualities to look for in a personal maid."

"Oh, but I am sure your concern is unfounded," Georgiana hurried to say. "You are the most competent person of my acquaintance; always excepting, my dear brother." She looked over at Darcy and he nodded at her graciously, a smile edging his lips. "I should be shocked indeed should you ever find any task beyond your capabilities." Here, she smiled sincerely.

"I have told her that Mrs. Reynolds also, will be there to assist in her selection," Darcy spoke up, smiling at Elizabeth warmly. "She will find her a most helpful advisor."

"And I have said I do not doubt that," Lizzy earnestly replied. Mrs. Reynolds had been a godsend ever since she had begun her incredibly daunting task of beginning to acquaint herself with her duties. Especially during the Christmas season, when there had been no end to what needed to be done for the tenants, including gift baskets that had to be made and distributed, and the Christmas festivities that were held on the very lawns of Pemberley (Darcy was nothing if not a generous landowner). There were times she wanted to grab the woman and kiss her for gratitude; she refrained.

Conversation moved on but Lizzy only distractedly participated. Thoughts of her coming task, as well as all her duties, were still on her mind. She was unfailingly honest with Darcy about how she was faring with her learning, and he was unfailingly supportive of her. She desired his further reassurance now, but it was not the time. Aside from a love of jam, she had been introduced to another side of him since becoming his wife. That was the _Master of Pemberley_ side over which she liked to tease him. Only, it was less funny these days, as she had seen that sometimes the Master of Pemberley truly was not a man to be laughed at. He was usually quite subdued when in this role, running the manor and handling all his responsibilities with an effortless facility she hoped to one day achieve. But there were other times that she had witnessed him revealing his more chilly, commanding side in the call of duty, and it left her with slight tremors (and not always in a bad way; occasionally, after such exhibitions, he later found himself essentially tackled in his bedchamber by one thoroughly impressed and hungry wife). Still, she knew enough now of that masterful side as to be able to discern that at this moment, at his table and before his sister and the listening footmen, she could say no more on the subject. As sensitive as he was to her in private, it was not for the Mistress of Pemberley to display her fears in the open.

"…such a pity the storms prevent us from riding," Georgiana was saying. "I should love to ride Magenta across a blanket of snow. When the storms calm, you would accompany me, yes, Lizzy?" Georgiana asked, breaking through her thoughts.

Lizzy looked up at her, smiling. "I am not much for riding, I am afraid."

Georgiana looked surprised. "You are not afraid of horses?"

Lizzy shook her head with a smile. "No, 'tis not that. I was only _afraid_ of wasting my time; I never had the patience to learn proficiency. It seemed so silly to me, taking the time to learn how to get somewhere atop a horse when my own two legs could ferry me by their own instinct." She shrugged. Darcy smiled at her in adoration. What a very simple, unconventional, _Lizzy_ deduction. How was it possible she was so cute?

His smile did not last long. For Georgiana turned to her brother and said, "Well, you must teach her then, Fitzwilliam. You have such a natural seat. Under your instruction she should mount and ride with proficiency in no time!"

Darcy nearly spewed his coffee across the table. Taking a choking swallow, he commenced with coughing until his air pipe was again clear. By that time, Georgiana was halfway out of her seat, ready to assist him in any way. He waved her back into her chair, muttering that he was fine. The poor girl continued to stare at him in alarm, completely unaware of the memory she had evoked of a certain, pleasurable activity (and the _position_ in which it was enjoyed) that her dear brother and sister had participated in just that morning.

Daring to look up, Darcy caught Lizzy's eyes. She was staring at him with a downright sultry expression, one eyebrow raised provocatively. He shook his head slightly at her. Did she _want_ to incite him to lunge across the table and make beasts of them both in front of his little sister? She simply smiled saucily and looked away. But that look, that simple look, had already done its damage. He felt himself responding and was grateful for the table which hid his trousers from view. He spent the rest of the meal in acute discomfort, digging up horrific, long-resigned images of a lascivious Lady Catherine and, dear God, just about _anything_ else that would keep him from humiliating exposure when it was time to stand. When his wife threw another saucy glance at him, he vowed: he would have his revenge.

Later in the day, Lizzy and Georgiana sat at the pianoforte, a stark contrast of sensual couverture chocolate and celestial blonde. They were practicing the same duet they had been trying to learn all week; an undertaking that was proving very amusing. Georgiana was by far the better player but thankfully, was also patient, and could not help but be swept up in her sister's mirth. For Lizzy, far from being embarrassed by her own mistakes, laughed at every one of them and poked fun at herself with disparaging remarks.

Repeating a wrong note twice in one movement, Lizzy laughed and said, "Do you suppose Athena makes house calls? I should be a better player, perhaps, with a bit more sense. It seems the notes before my face are a bit too subtle for me."

The two giggled again, then were startled by the imperious visage of Darcy before them. Frowning, he bowed to the ladies then said to his wife. "Could you perhaps join me in my study at your next opportunity?"

She looked at him cautiously. She could not read his expression. "I would be happy to," she said slowly. "Perhaps after Georgiana and I are done here?" He bowed stiffly in response and was gone as quickly as he had come. Georgiana bit her lip and looked worriedly at her sister, who stared after her husband for a moment longer before plastering a reassuring smile on her face and saying, "Now! Where were we? Oh yes; my two left hands."

When she made it to her husband's study and let herself in, he was sitting at his desk, signing papers his steward, Altman, was handing to him. Looking up to see her, he reclined in his chair and said, "Altman, we shall continue this another time. Tomorrow. There is nothing else that must be dealt with today?" The steward said no, there were no pressing matters, bowed to his master and mistress and was gone.

Alone now, Lizzy bit her lip as she stood before his desk. She could not explain it, but she felt as if she were a little girl being called into her father's study for a rare admonishment. Especially since her husband still sat reclined in his chair, drumming his fingers on the desk and looking at her in a way she couldn't read. It was disconcerting; she much preferred his playful side to whatever _this_ was.

"Your interviews went well?" he asked abruptly.

She raised an eyebrow at the unexpected question. "Yes," she answered awkwardly. "They went well. It was a much shorter process than I had imagined, in fact. The choice was very clear early on. One young lady had the particular recommendation of Mrs. Reynolds. She comes from a family which has served Pemberley for many years. The Whites? Perhaps you know them?"

He nodded. "Yes. Philip White, the elder, was the top stableman when I was younger. He did a fine job. His son, Philip the junior, holds that position now and does as well with it as his father did. I believe others of the family have held various positions for us over many years. One brother may be a footman, I think." His voice had taken on a quality of absence. Standing up, he walked toward her. She found herself gulping. Audibly. She blushed and looked down. But he did not stop before her, or at all. He simply strode by her, his wide palm reaching out to brush her abdomen as he passed. She didn't turn around, but heard the door locking behind her.

"And so we are to hire the White girl. Well, I am glad that is settled," he said, his voice low. "Are there other matters to which you have attended today, wife?"

She could hear him moving slowly toward her. It nigh near set her to trembling. "Um…I discussed some other matters with Mrs. Reynolds. The matter of the tenants who have only just returned to their homes from Pemberley…I proposed I should take them some provisions within the next day or two. I have yet to go...abouts…meeting…tenants…"

She had begun to lose her capacity for speech when he arrived behind her, pulling her slightly toward him. Their bodies barely touching, he held her lightly around her waist with one arm, while the fingers of the other hand gently explored from her ear to the sleeve of her dress at her shoulder. "Any other matters?" he breathed huskily against her ear.

She tried to think. It seemed there was something in particular he wanted her to say, but good god, how was she to come up with _anything_ with his body so near to her like this?! "Um – the ball. We discussed the coming ball…" She hoped that was what he wanted to hear because beyond that, she had nothing. Her brain was as empty as…as…_Lydia's_.

"That is all? You did not, then, discuss the matter of _riding? _How odd; considering how entertained you were by the notion this morning."

She whimpered. _That's_ what this was about. And she could only guess what he meant to do. "No – no riding," she squeaked out.

"Mmm," he nodded. "Well, I shall have to have that conversation with you myself, then. Lesson number one: the proper attire." His hands moved to the little buttons on the back of her dress, which he began to unbutton one by one. She forgot how to breathe. He continued speaking in a low, controlled tone. "One must always be clothed adequately for the experience. The wrong boots or riding habit can make for a very uncomfortable time. And _you_ are not properly attired for this form of riding. Allow me to remedy the situation."

Faster than she knew how, he pushed her dress and camisole down over her shoulders and to her waist, baring her breasts above her corset. She gasped as he cupped them in his hands and kissed her ear, her neck, her shoulders, her jaw line, until he finally burned her lips with his. She sighed helplessly against his mouth, her body slumping backward against his. He caught her and spun her around.

"Lesson number two," he said. "Mounting."

Picking her up roughly under her arms, he plopped her down on his desk. She stared at him in shock, awash with desire and trepidation. He reclaimed her mouth, and she brought her arms up to his neck, her hands running through his hair. Pushing the hem of her dress up to her waist, he stroked her trembling thighs. "Lesson number three," he said against her mouth. "Become acquainted with your horse. Its nature, and what it responds to." She jolted and yelped when she then felt his fingers becoming re-_acquainted_ with her person, but could not stop herself from purring helplessly with pleasure. "Perfect," he smiled. He licked her lips, and she responded by biting and sucking his. Groaning, he kissed her again and for some time, rejoicing in her velvety tongue and her purrs of pleasure into his mouth. "You see," he panted as he unbuttoned his trousers. "Once you are familiar with your horse, you can begin to teach it who its master is."

She pulled back, her eyes flashing. "I have no master."

He grinned. "We shall see, Miss Bennet. Lesson number four: riding."

It was a frantic affair. Chiefly it consisted of a good amount of moaning, groaning, and one shaking oak desk which chucked its contents riotously onto the floor (including one or two inkwells; the affronted carpet would not thank them). In a touching show of altruism, both competitors exhibited an admirable amount of enthusiasm for helping the other over the finish line. But in the end, neither could deny themselves release any longer. They shook with their climaxes, drowning their cries in each other's mouths so as not to make any more noise than they already had. (Not that it made any difference. As soon as the mistress had entered the master's study, booted the steward and shut the door, everyone in the vicinity knew what was about to happen; and it sure as hell wasn't _studying_.)

Finished, they lay panting on the desk, her back pressed into the cool wood, his body limp atop hers. It took them both some time to recover. Eventually, he kissed the moist cleft between her breasts. "And now, Mrs. Darcy?"

She laughed breathily. "Now it is Mrs. Darcy? What happened to Miss Bennet?"

He nuzzled happily against her. "I would never have done such a thing as I have just done to my beloved Mrs. Darcy. _Miss Bennet_ was the wench in need of taming." He looked up at her, grinning devilishly. There he was again, the playful man she had been missing all day.

She returned the arch smile. "And yet you ask _Mrs. Darcy_ now if she has a master. Well, I will answer you, but not to your satisfaction, for I must still say 'no.' However, be not downcast. I am sure your skills could tame any other beast, but you see, I have always been stubborn and now my husband has made quite the wanton out of me. You say Miss Bennet was a wench, but I must state it is Mrs. Darcy who is the willful wanton, making love, if that is what that was, on a desk, in a study, in a great manor, in the middle of the day. She is altogether fallen."

He nodded gravely. "I see your point. And what am I to do with such a stubborn, wild wanton?"

She raised an eyebrow. "There is only one thing to do. Finish undressing her, then get her to a horse, and a people repressed by taxes. We shall reprise a legend, sir!"

* * *

The days, and then the weeks rolled by, during which Lizzy never did act out her Lady Godiva scheme. Still, it was an idyllic time for them both, especially Darcy, for whom it consisted mainly of enjoying the company of the two dearest women in his life, and the different forms of joy they brought to him. He continued to revel in the return of the old Georgiana while feeling himself falling further and further under Lizzy's spell. If he had thought he loved her before, it was nothing to how he loved her now. He thought about her constantly and grew giddy at the sight of her. At times he felt like one of the young hounds he trained for hunting, the ones that followed him around with eager, surrendered devotion in their eyes. The physical intimacy he shared with her drove him out of his wits, sure, and he could admit he lived to have her; but beyond that, it was the joy, the sheer delight and unpredictability of the _woman _that so entranced him. She was like his own, personal wood nymph, and he would have her no other way.

He reminded her of that time and time again, when he could see her new burdens weighing on her. He would not deny she had much to learn, but he believed her to be doing a wonderful job, showing herself to be the quick learner, and level-headed manager he had known she would be. He was especially impressed with how she was handling the planning of the ball. It was a ball the history of which extended back over almost two centuries. For that period of time, near the beginning of every new year, the Mistress of Pemberley threw a ball for the neighboring manors and other exclusive guests. Now that a new mistress was in residence, the tradition was to be resurrected, no questions asked. With Mrs. Reynolds's incomparable help, he predicted Lizzy's ball would be a huge success. It saddened him, though, to see she was not always reassured by his encouragement.

For Lizzy's part, she felt there was only so much she could say without burdening him or crossing over into the territory of whining. She knew he felt it keenly when she became overwhelmed; he wanted nothing but her happiness, and felt guilty that she should be saddled with so much responsibility simply for loving him. Unable to even bear the idea of saddening him, she tried to put on a brave face in the times she felt under a strain, and said nothing to contradict him when he offered his encouragement. Effusively pretending to buy his affirmation, however, was beyond her; it felt too much like artifice. That was why he knew better than to think her comforted.

Lizzy did believe him in one way, however. He had called her a wood nymph more than once, and she believed she was, aside from the part about being naked in the woods. Her aunt and uncle had said that all Darcy needed was a little liveliness, and she supposed that need extended from the man to his household. She could provide liveliness. By the buckets. And she had decided that Pemberly would just have to get acquainted with it. So, despite the invisible line separating her from the servants, she was resolved to behave toward them as amiably and attentively as was in her nature to. They responded hesitantly at first, surprised at how personable the new mistress was. That surprise soon gave way to delight, however, and it was not long before she had the devotion of every servant from the housekeeper to the lowest scullery maid and stable boy. She came to know many of them by name and even developed a special fondness for a few. Particularly her new lady's maid, Anne.

She had found Anne to be exactly the treasure Mrs. Reynolds had said she would be. The woman was a few years older than her mistress, and competent and skilled at all the things a lady's maid should be. The two had an easy relationship; respectful, but friendly. Elizabeth had found out many things about her over the few weeks she had known her. She had already known that her family had served the Darcys for generations, but what she hadn't known was that her mother and father had once been particular friends of Mrs. Reynolds and her late husband. Anne's older sister was even Mrs. Reynolds' namesake. That same sister was nearly fifteen years Anne's senior, and had gone off to London to be a nurse and then a companion to a prestigious family there. It was in fact, her sister's position that provided Anne with her training. Rebecca White had sent for her once, taking her under the roof of the family she worked for, and taught her what she knew of the duties of a lady's maid. She had even secured private sessions for her with her own mistress's maid. Anne had returned with sufficient training and had even been taught to read. Elizabeth could tell by the warmth in her voice when Anne spoke of her that she held her sister in the dearest regard. It tugged at her heart as she was reminded of her Jane. Being separated from their favorite sister was something she and Anne had in common, and she told her so.

Darcy did not always look upon this openness with her maid with an approving eye. "You ought not to be so casual with her, Lizzy," he said gently one day. "She is not your friend; she is your maid. If you are in need of female companionship, you have Georgiana. There must be a certain separation between you and the servants."

Lizzy just laughed and kissed him on the cheek. "I believe there to be plenty of established _separation_ between them and I already. They sleep in their beds in the servants' quarters every night. I sleep in _your_ bed."

Regardless of these minor bouts of disharmony and Lizzy's occasional qualms over her duties, the couple was indeed very happy; deliriously so. As the last days before the ball ticked down, they began to feel the loss of this secluded, untouched time. Soon their home would be overrun by ball guests. Colonel Fitzwilliam would be the first to arrive, and had written that he would be bringing a guest. He would be promptly followed by Lizzy's family (even, dear God, her _mother_. Thankfully, the Gardiners were also to make an appearance, and would hopefully at least keep her away from the punch bowl). Other guests from further away would arrive after that, and then the ball would commence. Their time of peacefully enjoying their perfect little triad was coming to an end.

Lying in bed the morning before Col Fitzwilliam was to arrive, Elizabeth was keenly feeling this loss. Or, she _had _been. And then her husband had begun to sufficiently distract her in her favorite way for some time.

"William," she breathed.

His hands entwined with hers, his hard chest pressed against her back, their limbs in one jumbled mess. It was all they knew, all that mattered, all there was in the world to do. He untangled one of his hands from hers to brush her hair back and snake his fingers around her throat, pulling her head against his shoulder to look into her eyes. Helpless, far-gone eyes. Kissing her softly, he continued to move to her soft sighs. Gently coaxing her down against the sheets, he pushed deeper into her, eliciting a whimper and a jolt. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, pacing himself. This had to last. He had to make this last. It was too good to end anytime soon.

Deep, slow thrusts, his hands holding her hips, their gasps and moans filling the room. Perspiration-drenched skin, and they weren't done yet. Not nearly. Turning her over, he pulled her legs around his waist and re-entered his favorite place in the world. Pushing slowly again, he reveled in the feel of her, the sound of her, the sight of her. Intoxicated, he thrust faster until their breathing escalated to a frenzied pace and her moans mounted, one on top of the other, until he brought her to that place of explosion. Unable to bear it, she desperately bit into his shoulder and released a long, muffled moan. Her release accomplished, he soon followed suit, spilling into her in blind ecstasy.

With a smiling groan, he fell against her, welcoming her arms around him, her chest heaving against his as they recovered. Kissing her neck, he again groaned appreciatively into it, making her smile. "Good god, I love you, Lizzy," he stated, peppering her face with kisses. Then, with a grin, he rolled to the side and lay his head against his own pillow.

She snuggled against him. "William," she said giddily, "do you recall the first days of our honeymoon?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Do I recall them? Not entirely. I believe I was sufficiently drunk on _you_ the majority of the time. And there was a great deal of that which we have just done. Other than that, I am at a loss."

She sighed contentedly. "I was just thinking how we did not leave this room for days. Not until we were forced out by Georgiana's return."

He laughed. "Oh, yes. That I recall. How disappointed I was when you insisted we arise from this bed."

""Twas entirely necessary. We were beginning to petrify, I think. It ought to worry a person when they endeavor to remember what daylight looks like and cannot."

"'Tis yellow, sometimes white; and bright. There, does that help?" he moved to kiss her.

She leaned away from him, a smile playing on her lips. "And do you know; I think the servants' only reason for suspecting we were still living was that they could discern no tell-tale stench of rotting corpses emitting from our chambers."

He flinched. "Dearest, perhaps you could refrain from vulgar, morbid references whilst I am laying abed with you, trying to focus _William_ _Junior _on his next task at hand."

She smiled cheekily. "There is nothing _junior _about him, Darcy. And pray, am I such poor inspiration that you must goad him to come out for play? I would – oh my!"

He had grabbed her by her hips and rolled her atop him in a flash. Sitting quickly up, he forced her into straddling him. She looked at him warily. They were still nude, and she could feel _William Junior_ was indeed in a state of inspiration. _Already?_ What, had Darcy learned his mating habits from rabbits?

He looked down. "Oh, look. Your friend has come to call."

"He _called_ only moments ago. Tell him he cannot be so jealous of my time. There are other things for me to tend to."

"Really? Such as?"

She thought about it. Then grinned. "Snow."

* * *

Darcy frowned, walking slowly behind his wife, his eyes squinting against the surprising glare of the winter sun.

"Make haste, slowpoke!" Elizabeth said over her shoulder, throwing him a bright smile. In her hand she held the pullstring to her sled, an ancient relic of a thing that a few maids had taken quite some time to locate in the attics of Pemberley and make presentable for their master and mistress on such short notice. "William, is it not beautiful out here?!" she gushed, looking around at the perfect blanket of snow covering the extensive Pemberley grounds.

"Oh, yes; gorgeous," he said drily. He was not happy about being dragged out to play like a child in the snow. Only Lizzy would have the gall to ask such a thing of him. Particularly when the only playground he ought to be enjoying at the moment was her luscious body.

She turned around, laughing as if she could hear his thoughts. "Do not be such a sourpuss! Pray, does the _Master of Pemberley_ never lower himself to such _childish_ activities as sledding?"

He gave her a haughty look. "No, in fact, he does not. Most especially when he could be inside, staying warm rather than abouts in the snow, freezing his nether regions off."

"Oh, come now," she smiled. "Now that the storms seem to have ceased, you cannot in truth say 'tis not breathtaking out here. Could you truly prefer being within the house to being out here in all this splendor?"

"Not the house, I was referring to being within _you_," he mumbled.

Thankfully, his wife did not hear him. She continued at a brisk walk, happy to ignore his sour disposition. She had but one day left before she had to share him for nearly a fortnight. She was going to enjoy it. Coming to an acceptable hill, she asked,"Will this do, Mr. Darcy? I find it rather a good hill for sledding, and I believe it meets your stipulation of being 'far enough away from the manor so as to be obscured from view, to assure the staff does not see you about such _ridiculous_ _frolickery_.'"

"I did not say 'frolickery.' In fact, I am rather certain it is not a word."

She rolled her eyes. "Does it suit?"

He shrugged. "'Tis as good a hill as any to die on, I am sure."

She laughed. "Dearest, no one is going to perish today! This shall be an exercise in _fun_. I find you in desperate need of tutelage, and shall begin your lessons immediately."

It took some time for her to remind him of the essentials (or even convince him to fold his long body up on one of the instruments of torture). Eventually she agreed to go first in demonstration, and took her place upon her sled. Taking a deep breath, she nodded at him to push her down the hill. The first push he gave was far too gentle. She barely rolled an inch. She looked back at him in disbelief. "_Truly_, Darcy?"

He blinked. "Well, I would not wish to push too hard and see you hurt."

"I am no frail flower, in case it has escaped your notice. And in order to sled, one must begin by _moving_."

He glowered at her. Then a slow, creeping smile spread across his face. "As you wish, Mrs. Darcy."

Lizzy looked at him in alarm. "Darcy, wait. What do you mean by that look?" He made no answer as he took her sled and pulled it, with her, back several yards. Cheeky grin still in place, he began a fast run towards the hill, gaining momentum with every second. Lizzy closed her eyes and shrieked as she felt her sled fly over the hill at a break-neck pace, landing with a jarring _thump!_ upon the ground. Holding on for dear life, she managed to keep herself upright for a good half the distance before the sled tilted on its side and she fell, in a most unladylike manner, the rest of the way. She came to a stop and, fuming, heard his laugh up the hill. Taking a minute to regain her equilibrium, she looked up to see him bent over, hands on his knees, practically choking on his laughter.

"I thought you wanted to go _sledding_, my dear," he chortled. "I believe such recreation requires a _sled_. And you seem to have lost yours!" Slapping his knee, he doubled over again.

Lizzy narrowed her eyes. _Very well, then. Mr. Darcy. I shall know how to act._ Standing up, she brushed the snow off her person and made her way toward him. Yes, Mr. Darcy would pay, and pay handsomely.

Needless to say, once Lizzy had walked up the hill and pronounced it was the gentleman's turn to go, he was more than a tad wary. "Do not suppose me unwitting that you have your revenge to exact."

Straightening her winter bonnet that had gone rather askew, she affected a look of innocence. "I have no such agenda in mind. It was I who dragged you out of doors in the dead of winter, therefore it is my responsibility to ensure you enjoy yourself. Besides," she said, kissing his chilly lips. "Any incautiousness on my part could result in an injury to that portion of yourself I am _most_ partial to." She kissed him again, warmly, her mouth open. He sighed, reciprocating. Coyly flicking her eyes over him, she said huskily, "How devastated I would be with such a turn of events."

His breathing hitched. "You do make an excellent argument." After another deep kiss, he folded himself up on the sled.

And went flying over the hill like a bullet.

"Lizz-yyyyyy!" he yelled all the way down.

Lizzy could not remember the last time she had laughed so hard.

As the day wore on, the couple called a cease-fire and resolved to simply enjoy the sledding, especially once a giddy Georgiana joined them. Even the Master of Pemberley quite forgot he _was_, and relaxed into the experience, daring even to have a bit of fun. After the sledding, his ladies even convinced him to make snow angels with them. It was at that time he experienced one of those suspended, priceless moments that make a life. It had happened as he was lying there in the snow looking over at his wife, and then his sister, their faces pink with the sting of the cold, their eyes bright and happy. Smiling and filled with awe, he had but one thought. _What did we ever do before moments like this with Lizzy?_

Walking back to the house later, Georgiana cheerfully parted ways with the other two in favor of visiting her horse. Noticing Elizabeth rubbing her hands together for warmth, Darcy took them and slipped the gloves off, ignoring her protestations. Rubbing them between his own, he breathed his warm breath over them and rubbed again. He repeated the action until her fingers tingled with feeling once more. Lizzy found herself warming both from his efforts and from the gesture itself. Not for the first time, she realized she liked being taken care of by him. Independent as she'd always been, she now knew herself to be entirely surrendered to his care and protection. Funny, how quickly and naturally that had happened. She returned the favor to his hands, and they soon reached an entrance to the house.

That night, when Darcy made love to his wife, it was with a tenderness and reverence that brought tears to her eyes.

* * *

The next morning dawned bright and sunny on the same snowy landscape. The Darcys went about their day as usual, as all preparations had been made (and checked, and double-checked) for the ball and their coming guests. It was mid-day when a carriage was spotted rolling towards the great manor. The Darcys gathered happily on the stone steps to receive their favorite cousin. Lizzy, holding Darcy's arm, waved gleefully at the colonel as he leaned boyishly out the window to do the same. As the carriage came to a stop, he barely waited for the footman to let down the steps before hopping out.

Bounding toward his cousin, he shook his hand, then clapped him on his shoulder. "Darcy, old boy! Good to see you."

Darcy nodded with a smile. "And you as well. I believe you have met my wife."

Col Fitzwilliam smiled gallantly at Elizabeth. "That I have. Mrs. Darcy," he bowed, then kissed her cheek. "Cousin. It is, as always, a pleasure to see you. You look very well! Marriage to my impossible cousin has not ruined the spirits I so enjoy then?"

Darcy rolled his eyes drily. Lizzy laughed and clutched his arm tighter, looking at him with shining eyes. "Not in the least. I find I am able to bear him quite well."

Richard's eyebrows shot up in surprise and then he laughed heartily. "He must have introduced you to sherry, then." She simply shook her head with a chuckle. As Richard turned to greet Georgiana, she noticed a shock of honey hair peeping out through the carriage window.

"Have you brought us a new friend, Richard?" she asked cheerfully.

He looked up. "Indeed, I have." He turned toward the carriage, and with a dramatic flourish that made the ladies giggle and Darcy scoff, offered the mystery lady his hand. One delicate gloved hand reached out to take hold of it, then one expensive slippered toe peeked out, followed by that shock of blonde curls. Once the beautiful lady fully alit, Elizabeth gasped with surprise and glee. She knew this woman!

And indeed, she did. Josephine Chadwicke had come to Pemberley.

* * *

**A/N: **Oh, Lord. E&D, Josie, and the Bennet clan, all under one roof for a ball to end all balls. This could be bad, riveting, or insanely, sinfully entertaining. Which do you think? :) Tune in next time!


	17. Chapter 15

**A/N:** Hey my awesome readers! I hope it's a good night/weekend for you to read, because I've got your next installment here. It's time for the Pemberley Ball! Some of you will really love this one while some of you may curse me for it. I seem to have two different camps of readers. One camp wants _looove_ and one wants _blood(!)_, lol. I worked really hard on this post because it was ridiculously difficult to get right. Like the theater scene from a thousand chapters ago, this one had soo many factors, but I'm proud of how it turned out. It's long, so maybe read it when you know you'll have a lot of time, like if _Anne of Green Gables_ is on and you're ignoring it. Whether you love it or want to throw rotting tomatoes at me for it, _pleeease_ leave me a review! Like, pretty please, with sugar on top. It means so much to me when you guys review, especially on the more difficult chapters over which I neglect basic necessities of life like, mmm, eating and sleeping. :) Ok; now **enjoy**!

* * *

"_All warfare is based on __**deception**__…Know thy self, __**know thy enemy.**__ A thousand battles, a thousand victories."_ – _The Art of War _by Chinese general, Sun Tzu (400 B.C.)

Chapter 15

Darcy stood at the banister overlooking Pemberley's grand ballroom, and glowed with pride. How many balls had been held here over the past two centuries? How many grand successes and abysmal failures had been seen in this very room? And now his beloved young wife was to make her first contribution to the annuls of that history, in an event which was sure to take its place among the smashing successes. He watched as the staff flitted around, following the mistress's orders for the finishing touches. The room was a beautiful dream of winter decadence. Elizabeth had chosen to celebrate in the vein of the season, with snowy white and shimmering silver touches everywhere. Strategically dispersed candles, strung lights, and touches of midnight blue created the ambience of a starlit night, and subtle hints of pastel pinks and purples alluded to the promise of spring. Very elegant indeed. Nodding with satisfaction to himself, he heard a voice ring out behind him.

An obnoxious voice.

"You look like a perfectly useless peacock strutting about with your feathers spread like a prima donna's fan. Have you an aria to go with that fluttering preen?"

Darcy turned around and aimed a droll frown at his grinning cousin. "Ah. Richard. Sarcasm at my expense. How surprising."

Col Fitzwilliam shrugged in nonchalant agreement as he joined his cousin at the banister. "I aim for the element of surprise."

Darcy scoffed. "How disappointing for you then, to be so predictable."

Col Fitzwilliam just chuckled, not the least bit affected by his cousin's wry mien. They stood in silence for a moment as he surveyed the scenery himself. "By my troth, she has done a fine job," he admitted with a nod. "You ought to be proud, Darcy. 'Tis rather pretty down there; almost as pretty as me."

At that, Darcy smirked (which was basically a smile when it was between him and the colonel). "Your countenance I cannot vouch for; I myself find nothing to admire in it. But I believe it shall go well tonight." He gave a self-satisfied wag of his head and finally shared a real smile with his cousin.

"So long as you keep my wife away from the champagne, I dare say you are correct," came a voice from behind them.

Mr. Bennet approached with his usual dry demeanor and stopped beside his son-in-law. Darcy gave a slight bow to his wife's father, but said nothing. It always made him uncomfortable when Mr. Bennet made such unkind comments about his wife; Mrs. Bennet was a handful and a harpy, but it was her husband's place to show her respect nonetheless.

Richard, on the other hand, had been finding great pleasure in his new relative's dry sense of humor over the past two days. "I cannot say I agree with you, sir," he smiled, eager to egg him on. "I tend to measure a ball's success by the number of spectacles made. The more hilarity, the better the show."

Mr. Bennet smirked. "Perhaps in that we are of like mind, young man. If one can suffer him, there is much joy to be had in a fool."

Before the colonel could answer, the distinct sound of rustling skirts cut him off. The gentlemen turned and bowed to the three approaching ladies. Darcy's breath hitched at seeing his wife looking so elegant and glowingly beautiful in her midnight blue and black ball gown with its silver accents. She was a cool embodiment of her ball's theme, but her sparkling eyes, radiant skin and heart-stopping smile leant the perfect amount of warmth to the overall effect. Added to his joy was the sight of his mother's sapphire and diamond choker draped about her neck, and his grandmother's sapphire teardrop earrings adorning her lovely little ears. She was a Darcy; officially a Darcy, and his wife. He almost burst with pride. When he saw her appreciative eyes rake over him, he knew she was feeling the same possessive pride in him. The effect of the realization went beyond delightful. He continued to stare lovingly at his wife, missing completely the subtle registering of awe and love on another lady's face.

Just like he missed the flickering glimpse of rage.

Stepping forward to kiss Elizabeth's hand, he then offered one arm to her and one to his sister. It was time for them to form the receiving line. With a smile, Lizzy took his arm and threw a parting glance to her friends and family behind her. Her smile widened brightly when her eyes landed on one very beautiful blonde, stunning in a scarlet ball gown. Her friend giggled and waved them off.

"I shall see you later," Josephine said jovially. "Fear not their claws, dear Elizabeth. They can cause you no harm when sheathed with white gloves."

Elizabeth laughed and shook her head, then began the descent down the stairs on her husband's arm. Behind her, Josephine was still beaming happily for her hostess. There was nothing of insincerity in her manner; not a hint of rage or passion to be seen. She was every bit the genial friend.

A consummate actress.

* * *

The ball started off well enough. Lizzy found herself taking several deep breaths when she saw the first carriages rolling up. Those people already staying at Pemberley were either family or personal friends of herself or her husband, and were coming from a far distance. The guests she would be greeting in the receiving line were Derbyshire's finest, or the elite families of neighboring counties. These people would be her neighbors and potential allies (or enemies) for the rest of her life. It was important to make a good impression.

Standing between Darcy and Georgiana, she was strengthened by the support she felt emanating from them both. Darcy, she knew, was only too proud to show her off. He was every inch the great Master of Pemberley, which was by far the greatest estate represented in the crowd tonight. His bearing was impeccable, his countenance princely. And yet with each introduction he made, his voice was filled with an echo of the warmth and pride he felt in saying the words: "This is Mrs. Darcy; this is my wife." Every now and then, when the line was thin, he would covertly hold her hand or cast a special glance her way. Georgiana, too, was supportive in a surprisingly assertive way. It was almost as if having to stand by her sister made her rise to the occasion. (And if her inexperience and anxiety inspired any bit of protective courage in the shy girl, Elizabeth was heartily glad to be of use.)

On and on the introductions went. Mr. and Mrs. Pettigrew of Willowbark House, and their three daughters. Mr. Hawthorne of Greydove Manor and his sister (a very pretty girl, Lizzy observed; a curiosity, for her brother was not at all handsome). The Fairchilds of Blackwood Park. The Dabneys of Lillyfield Park. The Dowager Countess of Nottingham. The so-and-so's of this. The so and so's of that. After a while they all ran together. When the introductions were at last finished, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy made their requisite welcoming speech, thanking their guests for their attendance. Those present who were being honest with themselves had to admit: the new Mrs. Darcy looked damn good dressing her husband's arm. Positioned on the marble stairs, looking stately and sounding gracious in their addresses, the couple could have almost been royalty. The thought inspired both envy and awe, and not a little bit of lust in the most lascivious of the covetous guests. (And if the guests were envious, it was official. The ball had only just begun and already it was a success.)

As the night officially commenced it saw the usual ball activities: dancing, eating, drinking and a great deal of talk in which nothing was being said. When Lizzy wasn't dancing (which was rarely – she was fairly in demand), she found herself bombarded by curious guests, some genuinely agreeable, and others obviously snarling and false. At first it had been disconcerting to see so many pairs of eyes trained on her from all around the room. But after a while she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing when she saw the fans go up and the whispers begin behind them. When those same consummate gossips dared approach her, she found their ludicrously sugary addresses impossibly funny. That these fawning ladies also explicitly took her measure up close before sweeping their longing glances over her husband, so often by her side, only made it better. And watching their shoulders slump when he met their fluttering eyelashes and flirtatious solicitations with polite yet distant responses was _hilarious_. Who knew there were so many Caroline Bingleys in Derbyshire?

Even when Darcy was away from her she maintained that easy, good-humored outlook. This was her home, this was her ball, and it was going well. She thought with satisfaction that, for the first time since she was married, she felt almost like the Mistress of Pemberley. The only thing that _did_ unnerve her from time to time was the possibility of her family making a spectacle of themselves. Mary, thankfully, chose to sit out and observe, causing no more trouble than to make a stir by sticking out like a sore thumb for her blandness. Kitty was in heaven, as she found herself being asked to dance by multiple handsome young men eager to become acquainted with _the_ Mr. Darcy's pretty sister-in-law. Jane, dear Jane, had been unable to attend due to a conflict of geography: she was in Ireland with Bingley (and Lizzy felt the lack of her presence terribly). And then there was Lydia, who, thank the merciful God on high, was not to attend due to a scabbing sickness called _Wickham_. All in all, her sisters were contained.

Fanny Bennet was another story. She was hell-bent on marching her fashionably garbed person around the entire ballroom and making it known to anyone and everyone that _she_ was the coveted Mrs. Darcy's mother. Fortunately, the more clever of her relations had anticipated this and planned accordingly. The plan: keep her dancing or chaperoned. It worked for the most part. She was delighted to put herself on exhibit on the dance floor, so much so that she hardly seemed to notice that she was only ever dancing with the same men over and over (her husband, Mr. Gardiner, Darcy, and even, God bless him, the colonel). When not dancing, there was always a sensible person by her side to balance out her ludicrousness in conversation with the other guests. Lizzy was beyond grateful to her family for being so selfless (not to mention crafty). They were doing what they could to make her a success, and she didn't take it for granted.

It was in this happy frame of mind that she partook of one of several dances she would dance with her husband that night. Glancing over at him as they moved opposite each other, she grinned. "And how have you enjoyed dancing with my mother this night?"

He cringed and she bit back an unladylike guffaw. Shooting her a menacing glance he said, "You ought not to be teasing me, Mrs. Darcy. It is for your sake I bear her company. You could show your husband more gratitude."

Despite his displeased words there was a sparkle in his eye. She said nothing in reply, but raised a provocative eyebrow, knowing the effect it had on him. As he moved forward to take her hand, he glanced at her lips with darkening eyes. She felt herself growing hot all over, for she knew that glance meant he wanted to kiss her, and perhaps more. "Mr. Darcy, I would beg you to remember yourself," she murmured through her teeth as she threw an affected smile at a nearby fellow dancer.

He too nodded at the guest, but then returned his eyes to rove over her shape as he circled her. "You are the one who looked at me so becomingly, Mrs. Darcy. However, you need not worry, Madam. I will conduct myself admirably; _here_. But when I have you alone later tonight…" His eyes burned and he didn't finish his sentence. There was no need for it.

She blushed even deeper. The man had no _shame! _She shook her head. "Pray, before you get ahead of yourself making plans for later, do your wife a favor now. Dear Josephine has been all but stalked by that Mr. Hawthorne from Greydove Manor nearly the entire night. Every moment she has not been dancing, he has been by her side. Perhaps you might ask her to dance the next set?"

Darcy frowned. "But that is the dinner set. I ought to dance it with you or Georgie."

Elizabeth shrugged. "Not necessarily. That is but old-fashioned etiquette. You shall sit with me at dinner regardless; we shall just have Josie sit on your other side where she will be safe from Mr. Hawthorne, and Georgie shall sit by me." Standing across from him and mirroring his movements, she cocked her head, looking at him through her lashes and smiling sweetly.

Despite his _great_ admiration for her flirtatious behavior, he raised an eyebrow. "_Josie?_ Getting very familiar, aren't we?"

She grinned happily and shrugged. "I like her. Very much. Please, darling, go be a hero." She took advantage of the next step by whispering in his ear as she crossed by him, "I promise, I shall make it worth your while tonight."

He smiled wolfishly. "And I shall hold you to it."

When the dance ended and he led her from the floor, he sneakily placed a kiss upon her temple before abruptly striding away. She gasped and looked around in embarrassment to see if they had been witnessed. What was he thinking to kiss her in plain view in the middle of their ball?! "Lord!" she grumbled to herself. "There goes one less member of my family who does not live to mortify me!"

Darcy just smirked to himself as he walked away from her. He could sense her staring daggers at him for his impetuousness, and all he could feel was wicked delight in having touched her so intimately in public. He hoped to God that at least a few men had been watching them in that moment. She had been drawing one too many appreciative stares all night, and he was feeling the need to remind the other roosters to stay out of his hen house. Dammit.

Approaching Miss Chadwicke, he heard the Hawthorne fellow saying something about sowing spring crops. Lord. The poor girl really did need rescuing if this was the man's idea of ballroom chatter. And that was coming from _him._

"Miss Chadwicke?" he asked cordially. She turned around, eyes wide and practically pleading. Suddenly, he was glad to be of help to her, poor thing. "May I have the honor of this next dance?"

* * *

Josephine schooled her features into remaining amiably unassuming. It had been a gamble, allowing that smitten-faced Hawthorne runt to stay by her side all night. She knew Darcy was just as likely to assume her affections were being engaged and stay away as he was to come to her rescue. What a monumental relief it had been when he chose to play the hero. Now, as they stood opposite each other and waited for the beginning strains of the quadrille, she shivered with the tension in the air. When she saw his shoulders just barely quake as well, her heart fluttered. Whether or not he knew it, he felt it too!

She took a moment to take him in with her eyes. He was so beautiful. Could a man be beautiful? It didn't matter; he _was_. She looked him over in his fine evening wear, and fought against a whimper that wanted to escape from her throat. His hair had grown slightly longer in the back since the last time she had seen him, but it looked well on him (just like everything did). His black, knee-length formal trousers fit like a dream just above his pristine white stockings, accentuating his honed thigh muscles and pleasing slim hips. His impeccably tied cravat was rimmed by the stiff half-moon collar of his flawlessly tailored overcoat, the latest trend in men's fashion. The vest he wore beneath it was a fashionable black and midnight blue striped creation with subtle shimmering streaks of silver; a perfect match to Elizabeth's own stunning ball gown.

Oh. Elizabeth. Sweet, guileless, _clueless_ Elizabeth.

Josephine had found it easier to insinuate herself into the stupid whore's good graces than she could have ever imagined. Not only did she have the glowing memory of their previous meeting to recommend her, not to mention her own tremendous charm and acting abilities, she also had the absence of the woman's dearest sister to play on. For such a nerve-wracking event as her first ball, the new Mrs. Darcy needed her closest confidante near her. Without her, she felt vulnerable and in desperate need of a friend. Josephine was only too ready to play the part. Though she hated it with every fiber of her being, being the doting friend to Elizabeth Darcy got her one step closer to what she wanted.

She looked at Darcy again. Even as he simply stood waiting for the dance to start, he had an air of elegance that couldn't be taught. It was innate. It was _him_. His face was set in his normal frown, but she had seen him when he was relaxed, had seen him laugh. Those eyes could sparkle, and those cheeks hid devastating dimples. His dark eyes caught hers and he gave a small, close-lipped smile. She almost forgot to breathe.

Yes. He was worth any bit of trouble she would have to go through to have him.

The music started and she struggled to make her mushy brain remember the dance steps. It was a flirtatious quadrille, one in which they approached one another time and again, facing each other, only to twirl off and away, dance momentarily with other partners, and come back to do it again. Though they touched but rarely, for Josephine the eroticism of the dance lay _in_ that fact, not despite it. She thought it a fitting picture of what she had always shared with him. Moments of breathless contact and close encounters, only to lose him again. And though he may leave her briefly to dance with other women, she knew how the dance ended: with his hand joined with _hers_. If that was not prophetic she couldn't say what was.

Several minutes of dancing passed, during which she was endeavoring to regain her sense. He was such a _threat_ to it! It was imperative that she keep her wits about her now that she had him to herself for the next half-hour. Finally she was able to think cunningly enough to remember that he was a reticent man; if it was conversation she wanted, she would have to initiate it herself. She cleared her throat delicately. "I dare say dear Mrs. Darcy's ball has turned into a great success, sir," she said with a smile as she circled him. Taking his hand for the next step, she trembled at the shock of his touch, even through her gloves.

"Yes," he agreed.

She waited for him to say more. He didn't. She hid a sigh. "It has been many years since Pemberley had a ball of this magnitude, I believe?" she asked lightly.

He nodded. "Yes, since before my mother died."

The dance separated them then, and she was faced with a heavy-set man who never once lifted his eyes from her bosom while she partnered with him. She wanted to knee him in what was sure to be his rather paltry male credentials. What was in her bodice was for one man only, and that man certainly wasn't _him_. Ugh! _Corpulent son of a whoring sodomite! Why cannot you go ogle his pig of a wife; she might open her legs to you._

Thankfully, the dance soon brought her back to Darcy, and she again admired his regal bearing and his graceful movements. She found herself pondering what sort of lover he was. Passionate and giving, no doubt. What would it be like to lie with him, when their time finally came? Unbidden, an image of him in _her - _the harlot's _-_ arms flitted through her mind and she couldn't hide a horrified cringe in response; she was shocked to realize she felt actual physical pain over it.

Mr. Darcy noticed and looked at her with concern. "Miss Chadwicke, are you well?"

She looked at him with her best sheepish smile. _Wit. He enjoys wit. _"Quite well," she replied. "Only overtaken briefly by a chill. I do my part, as you see, in keeping with the general expectation of the weakling female. A lady must always appear to be in some degree of discomfort or danger; it makes the male specimen of the species feel obliged to offer their strength in our aid and reminds them of their superiority. It is our job to uphold this falsehood."

His face remained blank. She had a moment of panic as she considered maybe she had taken it too far. But then he finally smirked in amusement, and she felt awash with relief.

"This falsehood?" he repeated, taking a turn about her. "Pray, why if you consider it a falsehood, should you feel the need to uphold it? It is a cruel and unnatural artifice, do not you think?"

She met his eyes saucily as she took her turn in circling him. "Unnatural artifice, it is. But cruel? No indeed. It would be cruel to expose men to the reality of our capabilities; their egos are too fragile to withstand the competition."

He gave an actual smile then, showing his dimples; _breathtaking_. "On that subject you and my wife might be in perfect agreement," he said. "I can see why you have been getting along so well." As he spoke of Elizabeth, a serene happiness infused his countenance and his eyes glazed over a bit. Josephine laughed in agreement.

And inwardly cursed the day the crafty shrew was born.

Without provocation, she saw Darcy's countenance grow thoughtful and he shot her an uncomfortable glance. "Miss Chadwicke, I should like to –"

But he was cut off when they had to separate again. Her mind was reeling as she danced with another ogling nobody. He should like to _what?!_ What was he going to say? She began to feel hopeful that he might declare himself, then remembered to think rationally. No good could come of her getting her hopes up prematurely. She knew Rebecca would tell her to remember that the work was in the waiting.

If only _waiting_ didn't feel so much like Purgatory!

She was practically jumping out of her skin by the time she returned to him. He said nothing at first, and she feared maybe he had forgotten that he was going to say something. But then he took her hand as they danced and looked right at her with warm, depthless brown eyes that could shake a person to their core.

She was lost. In that moment she knew: she was hopelessly, heartbreakingly in love with this man. And she would wait forever, she would do whatever it took, to make him hers.

"Miss Chadwicke," he said quietly. "I should like to say…that is, my cousin has told me…"

She raised a frantic eyebrow. _I am dying here, sir, _she thought. _I love you, but dear God, spit it out!_

"My cousin has told me of what you did," he finally said. "Of what you said, in defense of my wife and I at your family's dinner. I would like to thank you." He let go of her hand. She still felt the warmth of his touch as she went through the motions across from him. "It could not have been easy, I know," he continued. "My uncle and your aunt can be formidable opponents when they want to be. I appreciate the courage it must have taken to be candid in the face of their displeasure."

She almost snorted. _Candid, indeed! I have never in my life told such bold-faced lies as I have since this entire ordeal began. _No doubt chasing this man was going to land her in hell for repeated counts of blasphemy.

She swallowed. "'Twas the least I could do, sir." It came out as almost a mumble.

"Nevertheless," he said, "my wife and I thank you."

They separated again, and she struggled to maintain her composure as she danced with another fool. She was suddenly feeling tired of all the artifice in the face of his gratitude. She didn't want his gratitude; she wanted his love. She spent the rest of the dance in silence, even when she had him again to herself. She could not bring herself to speak another word to him as his words rang through her head, driving a very painful revelation home. It well-nigh tore her apart. The final chords began, and he took her hand as she curtsied prettily before him. The dance over, she looked up to see him looking kindly at her – but aloofly. It almost brought tears to her eyes.

With one last murmured thanks, he released her hand, bowed to her, and turned on his heel to walk away. As she watched his retreating back, she couldn't stop the lone tear that did escape from sliding down her cheek. His words again came back to her. _"My wife and I…" _It wasn't the words, it was the way in which he said them; unassuming and unabashed, as if he owed her no apology.

She sniffed, her lip quivering. _As if you didn't know _I_ was to be your wife. Oh, God. _Closing her eyes, she fought back the heartbreak.

_As if you _never_ knew it._

* * *

When dinner began, Josephine knew she should feel thrilled to be sitting at Darcy's side. It was what she had been hoping for all night. But now when he spoke to her, she could only manage half-hearted replies, so much so that he was eventually induced to leave her be (he being of no great skill at making conversation himself). On some level she was angry with herself for wasting this chance, but she just felt so _dull_ and tired; and disillusioned. She wanted the ball to simply end already so she could go up to her room and cry on Rebecca's shoulder. Rebecca would comfort her. Rebecca would know what to do. Looking over at him smiling like a soft-in-the-head fool at his wife, she turned beet red. So, he loved Elizabeth. Truly. And he may never have felt the same for her. Did it change things? She wasn't sure. If only she could talk to Rebecca!

The one thought that gave her even some pleasure was the anticipation of dinner's _main event_. Cutting her eyes at one of the footmen on the fringes of the room, she felt wicked satisfaction when he met her glance and gave a barely discernable nod. Darting her eyes over to Mrs. Darcy, she allowed her lips to curl just so. _You have been the belle of the ball all night. Let us see if you stay as such._

Elizabeth saw her friend looking at her so and mistook the look for discomfort. Setting her wine glass down after a graceful sip, she inquired with sincere concern after her health. "Pray, do you not feel well, Miss Chadwicke? You have been so silent. Is your food not agreeable to you? Can I get you anything else?"

Josephine glanced at Elizabeth's wine glass. Keeping her gaze there, she responded absentmindedly, "No. I am not feeling well." She lifted her eyes to meet her hostess's. Smiling genuinely, she said, "But I believe I shall feel better soon."

Mrs. Darcy smiled and looked ready to say something else, but her attention was arrested when a giggling Georgiana Darcy pulled on her shoulder and whispered something in her ear. Her sister-in-law laughed also, and turned to her husband to pass the secret merriment on. He too laughed at what he heard and whispered back to her. Taking her hand, he brought it to his lips and gave her that same stupid gaze. It made Josephine sick. _She has made a fool of you. How you disgust me like this._

A few minutes passed and Josephine grew giddy as she anticipated the effects of her scheme. Even as she engaged in conversation with the woman on her left, she couldn't keep her eyes from drifting over to Mrs. Darcy. But time marched on and the wench's cheeks remained a healthy pink as she continued to conduct herself with every bit of grace. _Bloody hell, how long does it take to take effect?_

Soon a loud, obnoxious voice at the other end of the table began to draw her attention.

"I beg you, mi'lady!" Mrs. Bennet was shouting to the dowager countess a few seats away from her. The noblewoman looked over at her in affronted shock.

"Could you tell me what the gentleman over there is called?" Mrs. Bennet pointed brazenly at a man the next table over. "The one with the large teeth! I should like very much to introduce him to my daughter and have him dance with her after we sup, for I hear tell he is a man of some pretty property and fortune!"

Elizabeth and Darcy snapped to attention as she talked, shooting alarmed glances at each other before training their eyes on Mrs. Bennet. Josephine warmed and hid a grin. She had learned enough of Elizabeth's mother to know the senseless woman could cause quite the scene if she wanted to. She had been disappointingly contained all night, but perhaps now she would expose herself for the fool she was. And with any luck, draw her family in as well!

At that moment, as if the fates had aligned for her, she saw with glee a horrified, uncouth Kitty Bennet gasp at her mother. "Mamma!" the girl protested. "I should not dance with him should he ask me! I could not abide a man who looks like a horse!"

"Oh my dear girl," Mrs. Bennet cooed loudly to her youngest, reaching out to sloppily pat her cheek. She was clearly more than a little in her cups. "For certain, he is nothing to Mr. Darcy or darling Wickham. My sons-in-law are such handsome men, your Ladyship," she shouted at the dowager, "and of good leg! But Kitty, think how grand you would be as his wife! Such fine carriages and elegant dresses and every enviable thing!"

Kitty screwed up her nose in disgust and crossed her arms. "La! It should mean not a jot if I have to sit across from a man who ought to be eating hay at every meal."

"Oh, child! How cruel!" But Mrs. Bennet laughed riotously and was joined by Kitty's peals of laughter.

Josephine bit her lip to keep her own giddy laugh from erupting. She shot a glance over at Mrs. Darcy. The woman was leaning on the table, her face crimson, hands covering her eyes. Darcy held her other hand in his, glowering at his wife's family. Josephine felt a surge of smugness. _And do you_ _see now what a foolish family you have married into, my dear? They shall make a laughingstock of you in your own home! A Chadwicke would never give you cause for such embarrassment._

Mr. Bennet, seated between his wife and daughter, saw the look his son-in-law was directing their way and attempted to corral them. "Mrs. Bennet, Kitty!" he hissed quietly. "I must beg you to desist. You are embarrassing Lizzy and besides, the gentleman will hear you!"

"Oh, tosh, man! He mos cer'ainly shan't!" said Mrs. Bennet noisily. She nodded with conviction, a move that was challenge enough to her compromised equilibrium to make her sway slightly in her chair. She turned to direct her comments to the dowager. "It's mush too loud'in'here for that, do y'not agree, yer Ladyship? I can hardly herrr myself think!"

"Indeed," answered the countess stiffly. "And I should imagine that edifying reflection is a habit you engage in frequently, madam."

Mrs. Bennet giggled. Her face was blotchy, and her words were truly slurring now. "Well, my Lissy is verrry clever. 'Tis how she luunded zuch a larrrrge fish az Mizter Darcccy, y'know. The man hazz pocketz deep ass'a sow iz fat, I shhhould say! _(Snort!)_ And sh'did get zzuch craftinessss from me, if I do say so my'zzzelf!"

Darcy looked again at his wife. "Lizzy," he said quietly, "how much has your mother had to drink tonight?"

A mortified Elizabeth shook her head. "I cannot say, sir," she replied in an equally hushed tone. "I was prepared to swear she had had _no _spirits until the wine she has only just now drunk, as I have not seen her partake of any all this night! We have all been endeavoring to keep her from the champagne and wine. I suppose we failed."

Josephine raised an eyebrow. _Yes, apparently you did_. She looked on joyfully as the scene got better and better. Beside her mother, Kitty Bennet was twirling a ringlet around her finger as she chewed her food. Regarding an ice sculpture which stood as a centerpiece at the table, she cocked her head like a beagle. A _stupid_ beagle. "True, Lizzy _can_ be clever," she said. "But 'twas not very wise of her to have all these ice sculptures made, do not you think? For surely they shall be melted by the end of the night! I should like to know what fool ever thought of making a sculpture out of ice in the first place? I should never waste my time creating something that will come to ruin."

The dowager spoke again, her voice droll. "You recognize foolishness and waste easily, young lady. Surprising, considering such behavior must _clearly_ be foreign to _you_."

Kitty smiled agreeably, then frowned, not sure if she had just been paid a compliment or not.

Mrs. Bennet, her eyes now glazed, sat drooping over the table, her mouth slack. "Yeesshhh," she said weakly, slowly. "Yeeesssh, all my guuurlz are…clever…" With that, she fell face down in her plate, causing an outburst at the table. Mr. Bennet, Darcy and Lizzy arose from their chairs and hastily sat her up, attempting to revive her.

She is breathing," Darcy declared. "She has only passed out cold, it seems." Motioning for a footman to come for her, he stepped back as the burly man swept her out of her chair. "Take her upstairs to her room. Mr. Bennet, sir, perhaps you should…"

Mr. Bennet nodded. "Yes. I believe I shall go with my wife."

Mrs. Gardiner materialized by his side. "I shall go as well. She will be fine, surely, but I will see to her comfort."

Both Mr. Bennet and Mrs. Gardiner looked exceedingly guilty and baffled. That Mrs. Bennet had become so inebriated on their watch was a complete shame to them, and a mystery. They too were prepared to say she had had no alcohol whatsoever until the one glass of wine with her meal. Murmuring their sincere, mortified apologies to the Darcys, they exited with the footman and their sleeping, drooling invalid. The entire assembly followed their progress with eager, curious eyes. After that, it didn't take long for the snickers to begin. As Mr. Darcy assured his guests that all was well and sat back down, it was clear to everybody all was _not_ well. Mrs. Darcy looked humiliated, as well she should be. Quietly whispering to her sister that she should come with her, she curtsied to the party and quit the room.

When the two ladies returned, Kitty Bennet was flushed and puffy-eyed, but quiet and demure as a church mouse for the rest of the meal. This too, escaped no one's gleeful notice. A little family drama went a long way for gossip mongers.

Things were decidedly less golden after that. For the rest of the ball, Elizabeth struggled to regain her boisterous spirit. Thoroughly humiliated and abhorrent of pretending otherwise, she found herself counting down the agonizing minutes till the last guest would leave. She knew she had a façade to maintain and that she should try to enjoy herself, but she was mortified beyond words. Observing Darcy's countenance didn't help. Though he was better at hiding it for the sake of appearances, he too was deeply grieved and ashamed of his mother-in-law's behavior, and Kitty's as well. It was the realization of a great fear for her, to see her family shame him before his peers. When the two would finally retire that night, all promises of a carnal nature would turn void in favor of silence. Apologies would be made, and meant, and no love would be lost; but their usual merriment would not be found.

Throughout the tortuous dances, the conversations, and the glances from sneering or pitying guests, Lizzy found her acute embarrassment for herself and her husband laced repeatedly with one, baffling question: how on earth had her mother managed to get so drunk when no one seemed to witness her taking even a drop of spirits until dinner? It was only too bad she never thought of checking the cup. For then she may have found the answer in the sticky, sweet-smelling syrup which coated the belly.

Laudanum and alcohol cocktails have a habit of making asses of people.

For Josephine's part, she could at first not tell if she was satisfied or not. It was now a given that Mrs. Darcy would remain perfectly lucid for the rest of the night. From time to time she shot murderous glances at the imbecile footman who had clearly placed the cup before the _wrong goddamned woman._ It would have been pure bliss to see the lovely Mrs. Darcy behave the inebriated fool at her own ball and pass out into her plate of food. But lovely Mrs. Darcy's mother making a spectacle of the whole family had its merits too. Now every time she looked at the unsuspecting twit, and Darcy too, she was gratified to see their earlier glows had abandoned them. So eventually she decided that if she could not have it her own way, she was happy with what she got. That resolve formed, she danced merrily for the rest of the night. And if the heavenly golden goddess in a startling twirl of blood red stole hearts and wowed a room of strangers, it was with stunning smiles that were for once genuine.

Finally, in the early hours of the morning, the ball ended; the last guests retired to their rooms or departed for their homes. Josephine found Elizabeth standing at the foot of the main staircase, surveying the typical after-mess of such a large event. She put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "'Twas a lovely ball, Elizabeth," she said with kindhearted sincerity. "I hope you would not allow for one mishap to spoil it for you." Her eyes were gentle, her voice caring.

Lizzy smiled bravely at her, though her face was drawn and she looked very weary. "Thank you, Josephine. You are very kind."

With one last comforting squeeze to her friend's shoulder, Josephine made her way up the stairs. And had to stop herself from skipping. For though Mr. and Mrs. Darcy would not rest well tonight, _she_ would sleep like a babe.

* * *

**A/N: **Please make my night/weekend. Please review! :)


	18. Chapter 16

**A/N: **Hello again, all you _avid_ JoJo would-be lynchers! Sorry to make you guys wait for this post. I've been working to get this chapter and the next one right. I'm still not totally happy with this one, but I've been wrong before about what you all appreciate and I'm sure the next one will be well-received regardless. As far as your responses to the last post go, if I had a nickel for every time I read the words "evil" or "hate", I'd be able to pay a nice chunk of my student tuition. By the way, thanks so much for those reviews, I frikkin' adore you guys. :)

And now: Josie, wicked wench that she is, had her victory during the train wreck of a ball. But the Darcys still have their remaining guests to entertain. Could be _verrry interesting_ *strokes beard*

* * *

Atticus Finch: _"I wanted you to see what real courage is…It's when you know you're licked before you begin, but you begin anyway and see it through no matter what."_ - _To Kill a Mockingbird_ by Harper Lee

Chapter 16

_The next day_

If anyone present that day were to be asked, they would say it had happened in the blink of an eye. Everyone saw Josephine Chadwicke fall first, landing with a _thud!_ upon the ice, which cracked several feet beyond her. With her fall, her ring slipped from her finger and skidded across the ice to land in the middle of the most unstable spot. Understandably, the young woman had cried out over the precarious position of her grandmother's priceless emerald jewel. Concerned for her friend, Mrs. Darcy made her way faster across the pond. But not before young Teddy Kelsey offered to be chivalrous and retrieve the ring for the lady. Though Miss Chadwicke had vehemently bade him not to, the robust youth had glided right past her scrambling figure, came to a stop, and bent down to pick up the ring. Straightening, he smiled triumphantly, the ring flashing between his fingers.

And then the ice opened up beneath him and swallowed the boy whole.

Laying stunned against the ice, Miss Chadwicke had proved useless. It was swift-moving Elizabeth Darcy who reached the boy first, frantically reaching for his small hands, the only part of him flailing above the water.

She had managed to grasp them, then began to pull with all her might to bring his little body up.

But then the ice had cracked beneath her, too.

And Josephine Chadwicke would regret it.

But perhaps we need to go back to the beginning.

* * *

_That morning_

Elizabeth looked over at her husband as she sipped nervously from her coffee cup. He was sitting opposite her, seemingly nonchalant and untroubled as he selected a crumpet from the tray before him. But she could tell by the tense set of his shoulders and drawn eyes, not to mention his screaming silence that he was still just as troubled as she was about the previous night. If those signs weren't enough, she also had the knowledge that he had slept just as poorly as she had. They had both lain there in bed, quiet as a graveyard except for soft, hushed apologies made to one another (particularly red-faced apologies made by her to him and kind assurances made by him in return), a sleepless and despondently reflective pair. Aside from the two occasions when her courses had descended upon her during their marriage, it was the first night that they had not made love at least once.

When they finally arose this morning, it was with a completely unspoken but equally unquestionable agreement that they would be breaking their fast in their chambers. Neither of them had any desire to see anyone else before they absolutely had to. And besides, they reasoned, most of their guests were probably still sleeping like the dead after the late, exhausting night. _They_ had had no cause to spend sleepless hours contemplating one of the most mortifying events of their lives. Lucky, lucky them.

Lizzy gave an agitated sigh. She still couldn't understand it! _How in the world…?_ She began to ask herself for the thousandth time before making a conscious effort to stop. She had reached the conclusion hours ago that her mother was sneakier than anyone had even known. _That_ was how she managed to get so intoxicated without anyone being the wiser. There was no other reasonable explanation. She had to stop obsessing over it and figure out where to go from here.

She looked over at Darcy. Mortifying as the subject was to her, they needed to discuss this beyond just apologies. She took a deep breath and prepared to speak, but was cut off by a knock on the door. Master and Mistress bid Anne to come in. The woman did, and curtseyed before them. She was there to check the progress of their morning and inquire as to when she and Harken might be needed. Receiving her answers, she curtseyed to leave but was stalled when Mr. Darcy addressed her. "How goes it throughout the rest of the manor? Have any of our houseguests stirred?"

The woman's face blanched slightly. "Yes, sir," she answered. "Some…some of them have arisen to begin their preparations for their departure."

Lizzy's brow crinkled in confusion. "But we have no guests scheduled to leave today. The earliest departure is to be in three days' time."

Anne nodded. "Yes, mi'lady. So I thought as well." She said nothing else, but stood there uncomfortably as realization dawned on her master and mistress. When it hit Darcy, his face hardened. Lizzy's fell. She looked to Darcy just as he arose and abruptly requested Anne send in Harken. His tone would brook no hesitation. The woman gave the quickest curtsey of her life and made a beeline for the door.

Darcy, striding toward his bedchamber door, paused long enough to turn to his wife and say quietly, "Lizzy, perhaps you would do well to begin your toilette too."

She swallowed and rose. "Of course." Here, she hesitated, wanting to say more. But what could she possibly say to him now? This went beyond humiliating!

He spoke her name again, softly. She looked up at him, biting her lip. It almost undid her to see how gentle his gaze was. "None of this is your fault," he assured her.

To that, she could only nod, afraid that if she found her voice she would burst into tears. When he was gone, she wiped her watery eyes and took a deep breath. She would not be a coward about this; she would not! He was clearly ready to go to battle over their good name. The least she could do was the same. This mess might not be her fault, but it was her responsibility.

Her mind began to work at a thousand miles an hour. She was not without her defenses, no? Resiliency was in her nature, and she knew she could be charming. She had planned not only for the ball, but for the entertainment of their remaining guests over the next few days. These "intimate friends" of the Darcys – who were clearly ready to jump ship, fie on them! – were about to see just what Mrs. Darcy was made of! In the sweetest way possible.

"Anne!" she called. Her maid was through the door in a milli-second. Lizzy lifted her chin. "Prepare my snow apparel, if you would. Just as planned."

Anne gave her a sly smile. "Mrs. Reynolds has asked if you favor her moving ahead with the preparations. Shall I tell her yes, then?"

Her mistress squared her shoulders, then smiled sweetly. "Absolutely."

* * *

Mr. Darcy, impeccably turned out and undeniably displeased, made his way toward the guest chambers wing. On his way there he passed by several servants dashing this way and that to accommodate the demands of the surprising number of guests who had awakened already. Some footmen made their bows to him even as they were lugging packed trunks; clearly someone was expecting to make their escape down the Pemberley drive, and soon. When he saw the Kelsey family seal on one trunk, his anger simmered. Purposefully aiming his strides toward Spencer Kelsey's room, he arrived just as the man himself was popping his head out of his door to check the progress of his trunks. Upon seeing Darcy, he paled.

Stopping before him, Darcy wasted no time on a formal greeting, coming straight to the obvious instead. "Kelsey, you are not leaving?"

Mr. Kelsey made an attempt at a small smile. "Hello to you, too, Darce." His old friend barely blinked in response. Kelsey cleared his throat awkwardly. "Yes, uh…right…well, Miranda is eager to get Teddy back home, you see. Um…his birthday is upon us. Nine years old, can you credit it? She is desirous he should enjoy the day at the manor with the family. You know the sentiment mothers tend toward." He gave another weak smile.

Darcy's gaze was penetrating. "Your son's birthday is _next_ week. So you told me yourself yesterday."

Kelsey's shoulders sagged and he dropped his thin charade. Casting a leery glance over his shoulder at his frowning wife within the room, he whispered, "Dammit, Darce! What am I to do? She was entirely put-out by that show of your wife's mother's last night. She demands we leave rather than expose our son to…poor etiquette. Were it my choice, you know I shouldn't give a horse's ass. I rather like your Elizabeth. But you know how Miranda can be."

Darcy gave a haughty scoff. He knew _exactly_ how Miranda Kelsey could be. The woman had been one of his hottest pursuers years back when he and Kelsey were still students at Cambridge together. She was completely obsessed with image and standing in society, and had been intent on having a Darcy family feather in her cap. When he had remained uninterested after three Seasons, she and her wounded pride had turned their attention instead to his good friend. Even after winning Kelsey, she never forgot the slight. She was no doubt finding delicious pleasure in this chance to stick her nose up and flounce snootily out of Pemberley, leaving the man who had spurned her to his regrets and shameful in-laws.

He frowned severely. "It _can_ be your choice. We are friends of old. I extended an invitation for you to attend my wife's ball and remain a few days with us afterward. You ought to insist your family remain here as you agreed to. If Mrs. Kelsey is so concerned with etiquette you might remind her that it is only the _polite_ thing to do." His tone bordered on biting.

At that moment, Darcy's eyes were drawn to the movement behind his friend. Mrs. Kelsey now stood directly behind her husband, her snotty chin raised. He pursed his lips and bowed stiffly to her, driven by sheer politeness and nothing more. She raised an eyebrow and simpered. "Good morning, Mr. Darcy. 'Tis a lovely day for _travel_, do not you think?" Her smile was spiteful.

Sometimes in life people have the capacity to do something so surprising and unexpected, it brings to mind eloquent foreign phrases like _"was zur Hölle?!"_ (or roughly translated from German, _"What the hell?!")_ Darcy was about to experience just such a moment. For when he opened his mouth to respond to the barely veiled insult, a most unexpected voice beat him to it.

"Yes, a lovely day indeed, madame."

He turned and was stunned to see the visage of Lady Frances Radcliffe, the Dowager Countess of Nottingham before him. The same dowager countess who had been so rudely affronted by Mrs. Bennet the night before. He bowed deeply and was joined by Kelsey, whose grasping wife also gave an obsequious, exaggerated curtsey. The great woman remained in a rigid posture. A relative to the king of England, no matter how far removed, curtseyed to a very few people indeed.

She looked shrewdly over the trio. Then she focused on Darcy. She seemed to be taking his measure, while he himself was trying to figure out what she was still _doing_ here. Vaguely, he recalled granting permission for a room to be prepared for her when she requested to stay overnight after the ball. He had been too tired and distracted to think anything of it then. Now he couldn't make any sense of it. Nottingham was not so very far away, and the inns along the way were more than decent. Why hadn't she, of all people, left in a royal huff after the ball?

She spoke again, still pinning him with her faded blue gaze. "'Tis such a lovely day, in fact, that I should think the thing to do would be to enjoy it at your fine estate rather than wear oneself out upon the road." Her eyes shifted pointedly to Miranda Kelsey, whose mouth was agape. "Would not _you_ agree, madame?"

Mrs. Kelsey stood red-faced. "Well. My son – " she stammered.

"Can wait, I am sure," Lady Radcliffe interrupted. "Would you begrudge him the diversion of such a fine manor as Pemberley?" Her voice was authoritative and clear; the voice of a woman not accustomed to being gainsaid. Ever. It was as if she were a nobler version of Lady Catherine, only much less ridiculous and far more entitled to her proud airs. And she didn't smell like cheese.

Mrs. Kelsey finally thought to close her mouth and swallowed. "I suppose not, your Ladyship."

The dowager gave a succinct nod of her silvered head. The matter was closed. Not just for the Kelseys, but for the Carlyle family as well. Lord Bartholomew Carlyle, an old friend of Darcy's from Eton, had also planned on defecting – so much for the weight of friendship. But upon witnessing the display, he discreetly slipped back into his room and instructed his wife to halt her packing, _immediately_. If it was a choice between staying and putting up with a little indecorum or leaving and potentially offending an archetype of nobility, he knew his mind. It was sort of like deciding between life as a free man or life as a pleasure slave to a lecherous, lice-infested crone with a voyeuristic fancy for male parts, livestock, and an unholy combination of the two. Glaringly obvious.

The great lady lingered as the Kelseys retreated slowly into their room, like deer backing away from a hunter. When their door shut, Darcy looked at her in puzzlement. The corners of the great woman's mouth curled up just barely. Darcy couldn't be sure, but he thought it might have been a smile rather than a sneer. She have a _humph_. "Nottingham is not so very close, young man," said she. "'Twas cold last night, and I am old."

He nodded, carefully driving the confusion from his expression. "Of course."

She lifted her proud chin. "I do look forward to seeing what _else_ your wife has planned for our entertainment." Her tone was unmistakable. She was issuing a challenge.

And a chance.

Gratefully, he bowed to her, and she cast another measuring glance over him. She nodded – for what reason he knew not – and declared, "I was just on my way to the breakfast parlor. Perhaps, handsome, you might be of use for something other than standing pretty and escort me?"

It was his turn for his mouth to quirk into an almost-smile. "It would be my honor, your Ladyship." He offered her his arm and strode with her from the wing, all the while wondering to himself what the _hell_ was happening.

* * *

Planning for several days of entertainment for her guests had been a challenge for Lizzy not because of any limits to her talents, but because it was still very much _winter_ in the northern county of Derbyshire. Out of the question were many outdoor activities like picnics for the women and children or riding to the hounds for the men. _What a particular pity, that; sporting to blow the skull off a terrified, defenseless fox would have been such a civil way to pass the time_, she had thought to herself with amusement. (When she had shared that nugget with Darcy, he had not seen any merit of irony in it. "Better a fox than people," he had stated with the pragmatic reasoning of a man. Then he'd thought better of it and amended, "_Most_ people.")

This winter in Derbyshire had been so markedly frigid and snowy, that even in early February, it was still stark cold enough to keep one of Pemberley's ponds frozen almost completely through. The pond was not overly large, but a good size for a party of about twenty people. So when the thought of planning an ice skating party for her guests occurred to her, she was very pleased with herself for her resourcefulness. If most of her activities would have to be inside, this at least was one way to take advantage of being the owner of an exclusive skating rink.

Not sure exactly how to go about impressing members of the privileged _ton_, she had decided to go with her instinct that for them, extravagance was probably always the safest bet. So she ordered ice skates in every imaginable size, taking care even to order smaller ones for the few children she knew would be brought along by their parents. Hot cider was to be served at the refreshment table, along with warm roasted cinnamon chestnuts, meat pies, and in a true show of decadence, warm cups of chocolate. Elizabeth wanted festive music to be playing, and arranged for the flutists from the ball's chamber orchestra to play for them (she knew the cold weather would be kinder to that instrument). For their comfort, she situated the musicians cozily between two fire pits. There were several of these pits dispersed around the pond, each surrounded by benches and far enough away from the ice to maintain its integrity, but close enough to provide warmth from a distance. Off to the side were blocks of ice she had provided for people to try their hands at building an ice hut or a fortress for a snow ball fight (recreation that proved very popular with the children, obviously). Finally, she had provided curved sticks and balls for sport on the ice.

So perfect was Elizabeth's planning that everything went off without a hitch. The guests, leery at first, were soon laughing and enjoying the ice and all the amenities she had provided. Though some of them hated to admit it, it was a fine treat to enjoy Mrs. Darcy's well-planned, _private_ ice skating party; it was tiresome enduring the company of the riff-raff that now came to skate on public rinks in town. And it helped aid in everyone's relaxation to know that Mrs. Bennet was still within the house, recovering under the chaperonage of her husband and daughter, Mary. Also, Kitty Bennet - helped along greatly by the fear of God put into her by her sister the night before - was behaving like a perfect young lady, even going so far as to follow Lizzy's "suggestion" that she use her particular way with children to teach them how to build a proper snowman.

With her family safely corralled, Lizzy turned her attention toward getting to know her husband's friends better with her usual, friendly curiosity. She immediately found Miranda Kelsey disagreeable. The woman looked and behaved as if somebody had found a pipe and did her the disfavor of shoving it up her least accommodating orifice. But aside from her, the other guests really weren't so bad. Spencer Kelsey was amiable and unguarded, telling her funny stories about his Cambridge days with Darcy. Lord Bartholomew Carlyle – who refused on principle of his great pride to go by "Bart" – and his wife, Sarah, were a bit stuffy but made intelligent conversation. Yet Lizzy couldn't shake the feeling that the two couples remained slightly wary of her. She assumed that they had been shamed into remaining on as her guests by Darcy. If she had known they'd been essentially pigeon-holed into it by the great dowager countess herself, she would have been astonished. Especially since the woman sat by a fire pit and uttered not a word to her.

Out of all of Darcy's friends, Sir Alfred Whittaker and his young wife, Noelle, were her favorites by far. Sir Alfred had been a good friend of the late George Darcy's, and in fact was Darcy's godfather. Lizzy could tell he had a sort of fatherly instinct toward her husband. Though infallibly kind toward her, the warm man with the smiling eyes was careful in assessing the new Mrs. Darcy to see if she was indeed a good match for his godson. Not at all threatened by his scrutinizing, she chose to be her usual amicable, witty self and let him assess away, sure he would find nothing to worry over. His fashionable wife was much younger than he; only a few years older than her hostess. She had come by her name from being born on Christmas day, and she embodied the cheery, eager spirit of that day to a tee; yet her countenance and conversation proved her to be a woman of great sense and taste. But the nicest thing about the pair was that they were the only two besides the colonel and Josephine who had had no intentions whatsoever to abandon them that morning. For that, they had her gratitude.

Getting acquainted with Darcy's friends made her think of the man himself. Skating alone for a moment, Lizzy cast a glance over at him. He was seated at the driver's seat of the sleigh he had agreed to drive for the day. The sleigh was to make its way through a very pretty pathway where icicles hung from the bowers of great stretching trees and winter flowers burst forth from the snow, then on to another pond where swans glided between the ice chunks, ready to snatch up the pieces of bread the visitors would throw their way. Unloading one set of guests, he waited as Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner and a pair of children took their seats. When he gifted the Gardiners with a genuine smile, it made her smile as well. It always pleased her to no end that he liked her favorite aunt and uncle so much, and that they respected him in return. Looking up to see her watching him, he gave her a warm smile. It made her heart leap. They had had so little time to talk today, and last night was like a thick, heavy blanket over them. She felt a longing and realized she _missed_ him. He hadn't gone anywhere, but the last twelve hours had put a distance between them that she was unaccustomed to. Suddenly, she couldn't wait to get him alone.

She watched him drive off with a sigh. Then she heard the sound of approaching skates slicing through the ice behind her, and grinned to see Georgie beside her a moment later. Her sister smiled excitedly back. "Oh, 'tis going so very well, Lizzy!" she enthused. "What a fine idea it was, to plan this party. You thought of every detail. It was just the thing to break the ice!" Elizabeth raised an eyebrow and chuckled, eliciting an answering laugh as Georgiana realized her unintended pun. "Oh! Not literally, of course."

"Well, I for one should hope there will be no ice breaking today," said Elizabeth. "Dropping one's guests into frigid water tends to put a damper on a good party."

Georgiana gave her an affectionate look and reached over to squeeze her hand. "I meant it, however. I am so proud of you. I know it cannot have been easy after the, um…embarrassment you felt last night. And yet you have proved a delightful host, and I am sure shall continue to be so."

Lizzy blushed. "Thank you, Georgie. That means the world to me."

At that moment, young Theodore Kelsey skated by, two cheery yellow winter jasmines in his hand. He extended them with a flourish. "For the lovely ladies."

The two women chuckled. Teddy was hardly nine, but already considered himself quite the ladies' man. The only one of the children old enough to skate proficiently, he counted himself as separate from the "babies" and was glorying in his chance to woo the pretty young women of the party. It was beyond adorable. The women took the flowers and thanked him, to which he responded with a waggle of his eyebrows, setting them to chortling again.

Georgiana lifted her flowers to her nose to smell them, but a mischievous Col Fitzwilliam raced by and snatched them from her hands. She yelped in surprise, then pursed her lips.

"_Richard!"_ she yelled.

Throwing a laughing glance over his shoulders, her cousin responded, "Catch me if you can, cos! Otherwise these flowers shall sit prettily in _my_ hair!"

With a determined scowl, Georgiana was after him like a flash. Lizzy smiled and shook her head. Just then, a sneering voice sounded beside her.

"Absolutely raucous."

She glanced over to see a disdainful Miranda Kelsey looking straight at her before sticking her nose up and gliding away. Elizabeth's brow furrowed. What _was_ it with that woman?

"Pray, have not a care for her, Elizabeth." Falling in line next to her, dear Josephine gifted her with a conspiratorial smile. "She is all sour grapes ever since her sister married a marquees. Some women are obsessed with climbing the social ladder. Spencer Kelsey is a gentleman of wealth, true, but his name is nothing to that of Darcy." She winked at her friend. "Your trophy is shinier than hers."

Lizzy laughed. Linking arms with her, she said, "Oh Josephine, you are a treasure."

_Ha. So you think. _The girl raised an eyebrow. "'Tis the dowager countess who is the treasure. Her staying can only mean she intends to sponsor you in society, you know. Well – if you duly impress her, that is."

Lizzy tilted her head. She didn't really like the sound of that. "Whatever can you mean?"

Josephine shrugged nonchalantly. "Only that she means to observe you. She would be quite the ally – the second cousin to the king himself, and one of the wealthiest women in all of England; can you imagine? But she is the very picture of nobility; only the most _flawless_ hostess would impress her. I should be so _nervous_ knowing that she is watching my _every_ move; critiquing me." She smiled sweetly. "But you are so self-possessed, that would never shake _you_."

Elizabeth shot a glance over at Lady Radcliffe. She _had_ been sitting quietly by the fire all afternoon; watching her. Instead of intimidation, she felt amusement at the idea. She shrugged and grinned. "Indeed; it shall bother me not in the least. Let her pick me apart so that my every flaw is bared. She can do no worse than some others I have met with." _A certain harpy aunt of my husband comes to mind._

Josephine nodded, hiding a scowl. _Aren't we so very sure of ourselves, Miss Country Bumpkin? Then let us _really_ make this interesting! _"In any case," she said airily, "you _shall_ have Miranda to laugh at! To think she once fancied she would be the Mistress of Pemberley! Ha! When I am sure she and Mr. Darcy never really – " She stopped abruptly with a wince.

Elizabeth looked at her with quizzical apprehension. "She and my husband never _what?"_

Her friend blushed and shook her head. "Nothing. 'Twas nothing. Only rambling, dear. Perhaps I have been too long in the cold!" She chuckled weakly.

Elizabeth struggled with herself. She was sure it wasn't proper to press her friend for the information; and she shouldn't be curious in the first place. Whatever Josie knew, it was in Darcy's past. She should let it go. She shouldn't invite trouble. So she wouldn't ask. She wouldn't.

"Josephine, I must insist on knowing what it was you are not saying," she blurted out.

The other woman looked at her regretfully. "I feel as if I should not tell you. It was in such bad taste for me to mention it at all. Forgive me, Elizabeth."

Lizzy shook her head. "There is nothing to forgive, I am sure. I want to know."

Josephine bit her lip. "Very well," she said hesitantly. "'Twas only rumors, you know. Unfounded, to be sure. You must know, I am _completely_ certain there was nothing to them! But – well…it was rumored some years ago that Miranda's father caught her and Mr. Darcy in a…compromised position." She blushed furiously. "And...and that Mr. Darcy refused point-blank to marry her, settling some money on her instead for her silence." She said the last words in a fast torrent, as if ripping off a particularly mortifying bandage.

Lizzy's mouth fell open. It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. William would _never_ do such a thing! He was too honorable. No...no, a rumor, that was all it was. She vehemently stated so, and Josephine rushed to agree. The poor girl was bright red in the face, apologizing profusely as she wrung the devil out of her hands. Elizabeth waved her off.

"I am sure there was nothing to it, just as you yourself have said. Rumors." She nodded decidedly. Josephine nodded quickly too and breathed an audible sigh of relief. Squeezing her friend's hand, Elizabeth insisted they shake it off and laugh easily with each other. But when Darcy returned to deposit his passengers and pick up new ones, she dared to shoot a glance in Miranda Kelsey's direction; and caught the woman looking at her husband with such unmistakable longing in her eyes, it made her sick.

* * *

Later, when Josephine was skating alone, she congratulated herself for having rattled Elizabeth so effectively. The woman had tried to hide it, but Josephine had seen how bothered she had been. She smiled happily. But after a while, her feeling of victory began to wane. With a frown indented in her pretty brow, she looked about her at the idyllic scene. The other guests were all enjoying themselves either on the ice or off it, indulging in the many diversions their hostess had provided them with. The truth was, the day had unfolded rather nicely for the damnable Mrs. Darcy. Her sweet little party was eliciting actual enjoyment from these jaded members of the elite _ton_, and she was charming the pants off of each and every one of them with that unaffected, effortless way of hers.

She gave an inward stomp of her foot. The bitch was just too likable! These developments had not been included in Josephine's carefully constructed plans, and they could put a serious kink in them. Some of those present had alarming pull in society. Carlyle was a Lord of Parliament, Spencer Kelsey's brother-in-law was a marquees, and Lady Noelle Whittaker's elaborate soirees and balls had become the rage of the town over the past two Seasons; only everyone who was anyone received invitations to the exclusive events. Even that old baggage Lady Radcliffe was still sitting among them all, appearing to have taken a certain interest in Elizabeth Darcy. True, she was participating but little in conversation and not at all in the skating, but her very presence silently sanctioned the goings-on. It was as if she were purposefully acting as an anchor, keeping ship _Pemberley_ from drifting off into a storm, and Josephine couldn't for the life of her figure out _why_.

'_Tis all so unjust_! she pouted to herself. Here she was, on the day after her great victory over her rival, and what was she doing? Being forced to freeze her rather lovely ass off engaging in this ridiculously childish activity, watching the woman she hated charming some of society's premiere names, that's what. And where was the man she loved? Off somewhere driving a sleigh like some goddamned demented Santa's elf because he'd become entranced, enslaved to the spot between Elizabeth Darcy's _chicken_ legs! The despicable _unfairness_ of it all made her itch to _do_ something; anything to wipe the smile off the harlot's face.

And so, if into this idyllic scene of winter fun, tragedy were to be invited, nay, _created_, one might guess by whom. And one would be right.

Josephine spied the spot of ice Mrs. Darcy had warned the party about before they even strapped their skates on. It was an area about three yards from the bank that was clearly soft enough to be dangerous. She had had the spot outlined in red paint to mark it as off-limits. The idea that occurred to Josephine made her mouth twist up into a gleeful sneer. Did she dare? Rebecca would tell her not to, it was too rash, too obvious. Maybe she would be right. But at this moment, Josephine didn't see the harm in it; for _her_.

Her mind began to work with the precise clarity it always did when she was scheming something. She had to do this carefully. She had only one shot. Looping around in a little circle, she gave the impression of lazy, content skating. Shrewdly, she eyed the spot as she began to slip her gloves off her hands. Bringing her hands to her mouth in a show of warming them, she began to wiggle her grandmother's emerald ring from around her finger. When it was loose enough, she cast another glance at Elizabeth, who was still on the other side of the pond, talking with Sir Alfred. "Elizabeth!" she called. Lizzy's head snapped up and she beamed in her direction. Cheerfully, Josephine waved her over. Just a friend requesting the company of another friend. Nothing sadistic about that. With a smiling excuse to Sir Alfred, Lizzy began to make her way over. Taking a deep, adrenaline-filled breath, Josephine made another circle. And tripped. And then came the mayhem.

The fall. The ring. The boy. The ice. The crack. The plunge. And Elizabeth Darcy.

* * *

**A/N:** I've left you at a cliffhanger, and I'm a jerk for it. I'll try to update in just a few days, like on Thursday or Friday. Look out for it! Thoughts? Predictions? Cries for my head? Lemme know. :)


	19. Chapter 17

**A/N:** I was talking to my own dear momma about this story and told her if I ever met one of my readers in real life, I'd probably get a solid sucker punch to the kidney. Read on, my lovelies, and see if you still hate me. :)

* * *

_"The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry."–_ Robert Burns, "To a Mouse" (modern English translation)

Chapter 17

Lizzy felt the ice when it fractured beneath her. It gave a pop and a hiss, then a hairline fission as long as her body sliced beneath her in a jagged line. More cracks spread after that, crawling around her like winding snakes. The moaning ice shifted, and she felt herself tipping toward Teddy. The ice water rushed up to cover her hands first, then her forearms. She felt a painful shock travel down her whole body as she felt how freezing the water truly was, even through her goatskin gloves and the sleeves of her thick wool coat. She heard the screams behind her, particularly the scream of her Aunt Gardiner as she cried her name, and knew she was going under. Taking a deep breath, she prepared for the plunge.

But then it stopped. The shifting stopped. The ice, apparently satisfied for the moment that it had scared the marrow from her very bones, ceased its movement and came to a rest. Still holding her breath, she kept waiting for the sudden shattering beneath her. But it didn't come. It had all happened in only a matter of seconds.

And the boy was still underwater.

In that moment, she made a spilt-second decision: her own safety could go to hell. She knew that the ice was unstable beneath her, and that if she moved too suddenly she would certainly fall through just as he had, leaving everybody with one more person to rescue. But she couldn't think about that now. She was going to pull him up, no matter what.

Bracing her forearms against the dubious ice, she willed her freezing hands to clench the child's arms and pulled with everything she had to bring him to the surface. He came up, blue-lipped and sputtering, clinging to her desperately. She gasped his name and pulled him to her, draping his arms around her shoulders and enclosing him in her embrace. He was shivering and gasping for air, but the shock of the frigid water and his panic were making it impossible for him to take any in. All his gasping and heaving was for naught. If he kept on in this attitude, he was going to faint and die in minutes.

All her senses heightened then. When she had first seen him fall all she could think was, _Get him out! My God, get the boy out! _But now, she was attuned to every factor of the situation. She was aware of the ice water biting through her useless apparel. It stung as if she was being burned, but she stubbornly ignored it. She was aware of Teddy, of course, and of the panicked onlookers, some of whom had tried to come closer but now didn't dare for fear of further cracking the ice. She knew too, that the ice had again started fracturing beneath her. Especially that.

She looked behind her, her eyes searching out their salvation. They landed on Josephine. She was still lying prostate just a few yards behind them, on more stable ice. Perhaps she could help without compromising the ice, since she already lay prone against it. "Josephine!" she called. "Come closer! The ice on the other side of the hole looks to be more sound. Perchance you can skirt around the fractures, and try pulling him out from there!"

Josephine looked at her, eyes wide and incredulous. Was she _insane?!_ She wasn't risking her life for this! She may not have meant for the boy to fall through but now that he had that was just too bad for him! She scuttled back onto even more secure ice.

Elizabeth's eyes widened, then looked upon her with condemning disapproval. But she didn't dwell on it, quickly factoring her out and turning her attention to the others instead. Her eyes skimmed over the crowd, past the panicked faces, ignoring the pleas of her aunt and uncle to take care, and landed on Col Fitzwilliam's severe countenance. The soldier. Just what she needed.

"Richard, I cannot pull him out! The ice will surely crack if I apply so much pressure," she shouted. "I need a rope, a pole, a small tree limb, anything to throw out to him!" He nodded, and with all the authority and cool-headedness of a battle-worn officer, began to yell for everyone to remove their coats to tie the sleeves into a makeshift rope. She lifted up a silent prayer for his ingenuity.

Their rescue method secured, she focused on the hyperventilating boy. Drawing back to look at him, she gave him a shake. "Teddy!" she yelled. Her voice was sharp and loud. She knew that all his senses were focused on the frigid water; she would have to pierce through to him to help him think. "Teddy! Look at me. Look at _me_, Teddy!"

The boy's red-rimmed, terrified eyes focused on her. His cheeks had begun to turn a pale blue now, and as he continued to gasp uselessly for air, he looked ready to faint. She tried to keep her voice soothing, but strong. "You have to breathe. Do you hear me? You must breathe, Teddy. I will not let you go, I shall get you out of this, I swear it. Upon my life I swear it, but you have to breathe! Breathe with me. We shall do it together, see? Watch me breathe, do it with me."

She took short breaths, knowing long, deep ones were too much to ask of his shocked little body. It took a few breaths and soothing words, but he began to focus and try to breathe with her.

She smiled encouragingly. "There! Just so! Very good, Teddy! Keep breathing with me. They are preparing a rope for you, see? We shall get you out yet. Only a moment more and then – "

She gasped as the ice moaned and splintered beneath her.

* * *

Darcy smiled dreamily to himself as he drove the sleigh back towards the rink. It had turned into a lovely day, just as his lovely wife had intended it to. He thought lazily that perhaps he should be exhausted. Truly, he had hardly slept a wink last night. But he wasn't tired in the least. His thoughts were too full for that. Too full of Lizzy. Watching her all day today, he had been glowing with pride. Though unaware of it, Lizzy was completely winning over his "friends" – a dubious appellation now – by her easy manners and wit. Richard, of course, had already adored her and Miss Chadwicke seemed to feel the same. His godfather and Lady Noelle, too, had not set themselves against her from the beginning. But the others, he was sure, had been prepared to only begrudgingly go through the day, and now look; the Carlyles were defrosting, Kelsey was completely charmed, and she was apparently impressing the dowager countess enough to potentially earn the woman's backing. She was unstoppable. She had arisen this morning feeling defeated and through her courage and natural charm, she would end it a victor.

He grimaced to himself. He'd had very little little to do with the courage she'd found, he was sure of that. He had hardly been the strong supporter she had needed this morning. Although he couldn't find it in his heart to tell her, he did feel a keen embarrassment, even anger, over Mrs. Bennet and Kitty's show of the night before. The impact of such a display upon his good name had filled his thoughts all last night and this morning. Along with that worry came concern over how the ordeal would affect Georgiana's chances of making a good match when she made her debut after the coming Season. When he realized his friends' plans to abandon them, he had quit her with nothing else in mind but to confront them. Yet he had seen the look of sadness in her eyes. The least he could have done was to hold her and whisper assurances to her. But no, he had simply uttered one reassuring phrase, then left her to herself. He had been selfish and insensitive in a moment when she had needed a champion. But he would not let it happen again.

Despite the biting cold, his blood began to warm as he thought of all the ways he could apologize to her. He hadn't made love to her last night, or at any point today. Just thinking of getting her alone tonight made him wild. He had to make everything up to her. And oh, was he going to. All night long.

Not far from the rink, his attention was arrested by a figure drawing nearer to him at a run. At first he thought maybe it was Lizzy, and smiled. She loved to run. She _would_ be the one to sneak away from the rink to enjoy a brisk jog on the strip. But as the figure drew closer, he saw he had pegged it as the wrong Bennet girl. It was Kitty Bennet.

And she was in a panic.

"Mr. Darcy!" She yelled. "Stop! Mr. Darcy!"

He whipped the horses into a faster run to meet up with her. Barely waiting for the sleigh to come to a stop, she hopped aboard.

"Kitty, what is it?" he asked in alarm.

Out of breath, she took a moment to fill her lungs. She had been running at a breakneck pace. Spencer and Miranda Kelsey, sitting in the back of the sleigh, looked at the flushed, wild-looking girl with disapprobation. Was there no end to the indecorum of this family?

"The boy," Kitty managed to gasp out. "Teddy – he's fallen through the ice!"

"WHAT?!"All censure forgotten, the Kelseys shrieked in panic.

"And Lizzy has got him, is holding him up, but she cannot pull him out, for the ice has begun to give way beneath her too!"

"WHAT?!" yelled Darcy.

"And there appears to be no way of safely reaching either of them!""

Darcy whipped the horses into a furious run. Kitty fell back against her seat with the sudden jolt, but shouted, "I was dispatched to find you, sir, but the ice was already splitting when I left. I'm afraid she may have already fallen in by now!"

* * *

Lizzy breathed deeply when the ice stopped its precarious tilt again. This was getting old. If it threatened to give out beneath her again and once more didn't, she would give it up for a complete tease. The shift had caused her to tip further into the frigid water, so that now the curved tips of her shoulders barely peeked above the surface, and the shoulder blades of her back were almost submersed. She had to brace her elbows against the ice beneath the surface just to keep herself from slipping.

Holding on to Teddy in this position was tricky. It was cold as the dickens, and her trembling arms begged to give way, but still she summoned her strength and grasped the boy by the pits of his arms. Hoisting him up so that his chin was just above her head, she tried to ensure that at least his chest and shoulders remained above the level of the water. She found this was better for her, actually. She could still brace her elbows tightly against the ice, but now one of her freezing hands was out of the water, cradling the back of his head, while the other one was lodged securely into his armpit just above the surface. _Oh, good_, she thought. _I might not lose my hands to frostbite after all. Would Darcy have loved me without hands?_ she thought with vague amusement. An image of the two of them walking through the park, hand-in-nub, flashed through her mind and made her laugh in spite of herself.

Behind her, Richard was shouting assurances that the rope was almost done. _Finally_, she thought. Had it really been only minutes since this whole ordeal had started? Yes, she supposed it had only been a very few minutes. Less than five, she guessed. But it felt like forever. Soothingly, she continued her synchronized breathing with Teddy, repeating assurances that he was doing very well, being very brave, and it would be over soon.

She heard the sleigh drive up then, heard Miranda Kelsey's shrieks. She closed her eyes. _Thunderation!_ If the sleigh was back, that meant Darcy was back. And if Darcy was back, he was probably -

"Lizzy!" he yelled.

Panicked.

She looked over her trembling shoulder with a guilty smile, her teeth chattering, and willed herself not to stutter. "Hello, darling. Be with you in a moment. You look wonderful, by the by; I love what the w-wind d-did to your hair. G-g-good look f-f-for y-you." Darn it. Almost made it through.

He grimaced at her fiercely. _Alright,_ she allowed. _Bad time._

At that moment, Richard yelled that the jacket-rope was done. Quickly, it was tossed to her. Needing to occupy himself before he went mad with worry, Darcy moved to join the ranks of the men holding it, preparing to pull the boy up. Catching the rope as it was tossed to her, Lizzy wasted no time. "Here we g-go, Teddy." It was difficult to hold on to him and tie the rope around him at the same time. But it was easier than it might have been otherwise. For she now saw what had taken the men so long to make the thing. They had shredded this last jacket into a single, sturdy strip to make it easier for her to loop and tie it around the boy. God bless Richard.

If only something could have been done about her hands. So freezing were they, it took great effort and concentration for her to summon the dexterity needed for her task. Her gloves only got in the way, so she pulled them off with her teeth, grimacing as the cold air hit them. It took her longer than she would have liked - poor Teddy - but she eventually managed to securely wrap the rope around him and knot it fiercely across his chest. That accomplished, she took a deep breath. Here came the tricky part. Scuttling back without falling through once and for all. She began with a small scoot. The ice groaned threateningly. She winced and moved anyway. The important thing now was to get the boy out; he couldn't wait another moment.

If she had been able to see Darcy's face, she might have re-thought that decision for the tiniest fraction of a second. For as the ice cracked and she paid it no mind, the most violent anxiety played across his features like a storm_. I swear to God Almighty, if she falls in, I shall dive in head-first after her! _he vowed to himself. _And then I would give her such a right proper spanking, she would never do this to me again!_ He scowled to think that even as he made his vows, she would do as she pleased.

She scooted back a few more yards.

Then she felt it. The ice was giving way. For good this time.

"Pull, pull!" she yelled. The men needed no further instruction. With all their combined strength, they pulled before the ice could cave in and suck Teddy under again.

Standing up, Lizzy made a run for it. Just as she and Teddy both cleared the area, the ice finally caved. She was astounded to see how much of it gave way. Why, almost that entire corner of the pond had collapsed! But she had no time to think of that.

Her boy safely out of the water, Miranda Kelsey fell upon him in sobs, just as Darcy grabbed _his_ girl in a fierce embrace. Enclosing her in his warmth, he wrapped his arms around her as if he would never let her go. Although she wanted more than anything to melt into him, she knew there was simply no time.

"Th-the b-b-boy," she stammered through chattering teeth. Mrs. Kelsey was still crying over him as the men tried to work around her to release him from the jacket-rope.

"Never mind that, just wrap him up in the coats!" Col Fitzwilliam commanded. "Kelsey! You must contain her! We have to get him to the house, we've no time for this!"

Kelsey took his wife gently by the shoulders, speaking soothingly to her. The men worked to wrap a trembling Teddy up in the coats like swaddling clothes. Lady Radcliffe stepped forward, decidedly slipping her expensive ermine cloak from around her shoulders. "Here," she said succinctly. The item was grabbed without ceremony and was swiftly cocooning the boy's body. As she stepped back, she leveled a censuring eyebrow at Josephine, who was still wrapped snuggly in her own fur coat.

The younger woman, feigning great concern over the scene, took the hint and handed her coat over as well. "Poor, poor child," she repined, her voice trembling with concern. "To think he did all this for my ring." She touched a finger to the corner of her eye as a tear slipped out. The dowager's only response was a _humph_. She was ignored by everyone else.

Col Fitzwilliam stooped to scoop Teddy up and Darcy finally released Lizzy to run for the sleigh. He just barely waited for his wife, the Kelseys, and the colonel with his burden to board before he was off like a shot for the house. Those left behind would have to walk back to the manor, including one very bent-out-of-shape, very _unpopular_ Miss Chadwicke.

When they reached the manor, Darcy ran ahead of the others calling for hot water, but Lizzy stalled him. "Have them m-make a good f-fire in his room instead," she instructed. "If you subm-merge him in hot water now, it c-could be f-f-fatal to him."

Spencer Kelsey, running up with his son in his arms, looked hesitant. "You are sure?" he asked.

She nodded with absolute certainty, wincing as Darcy rubbed her arms briskly. "Trust me. We must get him bef-fore a fire, undress him, and wr-wrap him in blankets. He must b-be warmed ss-slowly."

Col Fitzwilliam approached, nodding. "Aye, she is right. Warm him too quickly and it will shock his small body. Get a fire blazing and wrap him tightly."

Teddy was whisked upstairs. Lizzy made to follow, but Darcy held her. She cried out when he squeezed her thawing arms. Immediately, he felt horrible and released her.

"I am so sorry, forgive me," he begged.

She nodded, intent on making her way up the stairs to the Kelsey room. "'Tis f-ffine, my love. But I must s-ssee to Tt-Teddy."

"You must see to yourself, Lizzy!" he protested. She was courageous and caring, and God knew he loved that about her, but if she thought he would let her see to the Kelsey boy when she herself was trembling and possibly frostbitten, he would soon teach her otherwise.

She moved past him. "I _am_ fine," she insisted. "Only qu-quite c-c-cold. He is m-mmuch w-w-worse off than I. And I know wh-whhat to do to help. I m-must go."

"Your arms and hands!" he retorted.

"Would not h-hhurt if they were in d-d-danger! 'Tis a g-good sign that I can feel the p-pain. Please, Darcy, there is n-nno time for this." She swept past him with finality. He stood there, helpless and angry, then turned to bound up the stairs behind her. She gasped when he swept her off her feet.

"If you are going to be so bloody obstinate about it, you will at least allow me carry you," he growled. She smiled despite herself. Darcy only ever cursed before her when he was truly upset or angry. How typical of her, to provoke both reactions.

Inside the room, Mrs. Darcy found her instructions being followed to the letter. Teddy's soaked clothes had been removed and he lay before the fire wrapped in blanket after blanket after blanket. She allowed for her jacket to be removed as well and sat before the fire wrapped in blankets as she gave her instructions. The Lambton town doctor was sent for. Lizzy knew there was little they could do for him now aside from what they already had, and offering him comfort. They would simply have to await the doctor, and monitor him as he warmed slowly. There would be signs of him getting worse or improving. She thanked God she knew what to do either way.

The time inched by, the boy shook and trembled, and the doctor still didn't show. Mrs. Darcy stayed with the Kelseys, watching over their son's progress. Mr. Darcy stayed by Mrs. Darcy, fussing over her every time her blanket slipped from her shoulders. As she warmed and applied warm cloths to her hands and arms, she found her hands regaining more and more of their dexterity until finally when he again reached for her blanket, she was able to slap his hand away with a stern look, eliciting a fierce pout from him. The Kelseys probably would have been amused had they not been sick with worry over their son.

Every time Teddy tried to sleep, Lizzy gently shook him awake, speaking to him to keep him conscious. She eventually solicited a servant to bring some adventure books from the library. The Kelseys looked at her in confusion. "He must not sleep," she explained. "If we read to him and speak to him, he will stay awake. No matter what, he must _not_ fall asleep." She didn't have the heart to tell them why; that if he slept in his state, he would likely never wake up again.

The night wore on. Col Fitzwilliam came in occasionally to get a progress report that he could take back to the others. Mary slipped in for a few hours to sit in a corner and pray. After a few hours had passed, young Teddy's trembling had mostly ceased. Lizzy unwrapped him to check him all over for frostbite. She was utterly relieved to find he hadn't lost sensation anywhere, nor did he wear the tell-tale waxy burns of the bite. Only then did she allow warm, wet cloths to be applied to his skin. As the night lengthened and no fever developed, she thanked the good Lord on high. Throughout the night, never once did anyone question Elizabeth. She seemed to know so perfectly well what she was doing that it never crossed even snide Miranda Kelsey's mind to contradict her. Instead, the woman sat by her son, reading to him or caressing his face with kisses, even occasionally clutching Mrs. Darcy's hand for comfort.

Once Teddy seemed to be stabilizing, the Kelseys finally heard the entire recounting of what had happened, both from Mrs. Darcy herself and from the colonel, who beamed to tell the story of Lizzy's heroism. She waved off his praise, certain that she didn't deserve it. If she hadn't planned the party in the first place, he would never have fallen through. Guiltily, she stated just that to Miranda in a quiet moment when both Spencer and Darcy had nodded off.

Miranda, massaging Teddy's hand, looked at her keenly for a moment, then shook her head. "You have no apologies to make," she said quietly. "You took every precaution in marking the area as dangerous. Teddy knew better than to be so venturesome. He is too foolhardy at times, especially in cases of a pretty girl's 'distress.'" Both the ladies chuckled when Teddy gave a small smile at his mother's words. She was right, and he knew it. His head was in Miranda's lap, and she lifted his hand for a kiss, then smoothed his hair lovingly. "No, I do not blame you at all, Mrs. Darcy."

By the morning, the doctor finally arrived. Everyone waited anxiously as he did his examination and talked with his fatigued little patient. He pronounced the boy was progressing admirably, with no signs of lingering shock, fever or frostbite, and that he would likely be completely well in just a day or two. He gave his permission for him to be moved to the bed and at last sleep, though not without someone sitting vigil should he start to slip. The Kelseys visibly sagged with relief.

The doctor looked curious. "Mrs. Darcy, how long was it the boy was in the water?"

Elizabeth's brow crinkled. "I cannot be sure; no more than ten minutes, of that I am certain."

"And you kept his head above water and coaxed him to breath, you say?"

"Indeed, sir."

The doctor nodded. "And I can see there was nothing you did here in the night which I would not have done myself. Mrs. Darcy, I do believe you saved this boy's life."

Lizzy blushed at the acknowledgment. "Thank you, doctor," she murmured. Darcy put a proud hand on his wife's still-sensitive shoulder and squeezed.

She turned to him. "Darling?" she said. He raised his eyebrows. She smiled sweetly. "Ow."

He murmured a sheepish apology. When the doctor departed, Elizabeth offered to take the first watch so the weary parents could get some rest. But Miranda Kelsey stepped forward and shook her head.

"Mrs. Darcy, I insist you go to your own rest. You are the picture of exhaustion. My husband and I will look after our son now. You have done more than enough."

Lizzy looked at her with tired eyes, fighting back a yawn. "You are certain?"

Mr. Kelsey put his hand on his wife's back. "Very."

When Lizzy stood to go, the other woman looked hesitant, then threw her arms around her. "Thank you," she sobbed.

Lizzy was taken aback and even skittish. She understood why things had changed between her and Miranda, but still; could a woman get a warning? It was a little too early and she was a little too drained for strong emotional displays. But she patted the mother on the back, whispered her assurances to both parents, and slipped from the room with Darcy in tow.

The couple found Col Fitzwilliam, Georgiana and some others loitering in the hallway. The doctor had already spoken to the assembly, causing a collective sigh of relief to be breathed. They were now all ready to drift off to their rooms for some much-needed sleep, but not before they had commended the heroine.

Georgiana embraced her tightly. "Now you are truly the bravest woman I know," she sighed. Kissing her cheek, she said, "You were a marvel."

Mrs. Gardiner approached and laid a hand upon her cheek. "To think I was once afraid of you taking a fall down some paltry rocks. 'How would I face your father?' said I. And now you have forced me to tell him you nearly fell through the ice being impulsive."

Lizzy looked slightly insulted, then guilty. Mrs. Gardiner cupped her chin to draw her eyes up to her own, smiling ones. "Impulsive - and noble. And so, _so_ brave and good-hearted, and worthy of every commendation! But," she added with a smile, "also _willful_ and _stubborn_!" She emphasized the last two traits with a laugh, making her niece laugh as well, and roll her eyes in capitulation.

The Whittakers also gave their praise, and even Mary was moved to call her sister's actions "saintly." Col Fitzwilliam moved forward to clap her on the back.

"You would make a fine soldier, cos!"

Lizzy smiled. "Richard? Ow."

Finally, all the company had cleared. Darcy hardly waited for the last figure to turn a corner before he swept her off her feet. "And now to your rest, little brave one."

She sighed and put her head on his shoulder. "If you insist."

As he walked, he looked at her in amazement. "Lizzy? How did you know just what to do?"

She shrugged. "Jane fell through the ice when we were girls. It was only her and I and my father around at the time. I fished her out with Father and upon our arrival at the house, my mother was too frantic to be of any help, and Hill was forced to show me what to do. I never forgot it. One remembers every particular of almost losing a favorite loved one, I should think."

He shook his head in baffled admiration. "You risked your life to hold on to the boy." He kissed her nose, putting his forehead to hers. "It frightened me out of my wits, knowing you were in danger. I even swore at one point that I would flog you soundly for it!"

She laughed into his shoulder. He smiled too, looking at her with reverent eyes. "But now I am only so very _proud_ of you. You are nothing short of astounding, Lizzy. Have you any inkling - there is no one like you. My unconquerable wife."

She smiled. "Your _sleepy_ wife. Do you suppose it would be awfully negligent of me to sleep half the day when I have guests to host?"

He gave an indignant scoff as he balanced her on his knee to turn their bedchamber doorknob. Pushing the door open with his foot, he said, "Elizabeth Darcy, should anyone take offense to you choosing to sleep rather than lead them in arts and crafts after what you did, I shall tell them in no uncertain terms to sod off."

She yawned, burying her face in the crook of his neck with a grin. "Always such a gentleman, Mr. Darcy."

He smiled, offering no retort, and carried her to their bed. Laying her down upon it, he covered her with blankets and stretched out behind her. Sighing, she rolled over into his chest, already half-asleep. "I think you _would_ have loved me with nubs," she whispered happily.

He raised his eyebrows. _What?_ But with a chuckle, he let it go. He would ask her about it later, and let her get her rest now. She would need it. When she awoke, she was going to be very much in demand. Everyone would want a piece of her. Yesterday a laughingstock.

Today a heroine.

* * *

**A/N:** C'mon, you didn't really think I'd let Lizzy fall in, did you? Things are getting interesting 'round here, folks. Leave me some love and speculation. ;)


	20. Chapters 18 & 19

**A/N:** I have to be honest, I feel _so_ **guilty **at having started this with weekly updates and now having to post just whenever I have time. Grad school. Meh. I hope you will be patient and forgiving, I know the wait sucks when it's a suspense piece! So if I can't give you updates as consistently as I did in the past, I will at least aim to make every post worth the wait. Deal? This one's long. Like, _The Hobbit_ long. And I feel weird about it, so if you actually _like_ that it's long, please reassure me, lol. It's two chapters I contemplated posting separately, but that would have left off tonight with some unresolved issues and believe it or not, I don't _always_ like to torture you guys. :) Read them separately if you want, you've got time till the next post. Just please drop me a line either way. Now go grab your bottled water and snacks. Put the phone on mute, you're not available. Enjoy!

***Warning, some mature material***

* * *

_"So it's not gonna be easy. It's gonna be really hard. We're gonna have to work at this every day, but I want to do that because I want you. I want all of you, forever, you and me, every day."_ - quote from the film "The Notebook"

**Chapter 18**

When the Darcys awoke from their much-needed slumber, the sun was already high in the sky. Without knowing the time, Elizabeth knew they had slept well past the luncheon hour. She knew also that she should feel some remorse for having left her guests to fend for themselves half the day. But she didn't. Darcy had his powerful arms wrapped securely and protectively around her. She could feel the warmth of him through his shirt, could feel his heart beating in her ear as she lay against his chest. This man was strong, he was sheltering, he was…_virile._ What woman in her right mind _would_ rather be anywhere other than here? Smiling to herself, she thought there were probably a number of her female guests that would lend confirmation to that assertion. Darcy was just delicious. Even her mother gave him the eye at times. Although that wasn't funny so much as disturbing.

She slid herself up to bury her face in his neck with a contented sigh. His arms wrapped tighter around her and one hand rubbed her back in circular motions. He leaned back to place a tender kiss upon her forehead, though his eyes remained closed. "How are you feeling, my love?" he asked, his voice still hoarse with sleep.

She burrowed further into his neck. "Mmm…wonderful. Rested. Contented. _Warm_," she laughed.

"Mmm," he responded, still rubbing her back. Then her words sank in, and he started fully awake. "Pray, allow me to check," he said, raising himself up against the headboard. He brought her with him, but tenderly held her at arm's length as he lifted the sleeves of her nightgown to assess her arms. She raised an eyebrow.

"Haven't we been a busy, sneaky boy?" she asked archly. "I do not recall wearing my heaviest nightgown when first we lay down. Nor do I recall being covered with blankets enough to suffocate a small elephant." She threw off some of the offending quilts in disgust. Now that she noticed, she was _sweating_. Ugh.

He frowned at seeing her throw the quilts off and quickly put them back into place. Satisfied that her arms were still not frostbitten – it could have happened anytime between now and when he checked an hour ago, after all – he moved on to her shoulders. Drawing one sleeve down over one ivory shoulder, he muttered, "Not so much deviousness on my part as sleeping like the dead on yours. You have been as a stone since first you fell asleep."

She smiled. "Ah. Yes, well I was just a wee bit tired, love." She threw the quilts off again. He rotated her to look at her other shoulder and leveled another fierce frown at her.

"Keep them on, Lizzy." He tucked the blankets around her.

She grinned cheekily at him from over her shoulder. "No." She threw them off.

He practically growled. "You were, for several minutes yesterday, suspended in ice water, _wife_. We must take every precaution against you catching cold or the bite."

She rolled her eyes. "Dr. Darcy, the _actual_ doctor examined me himself this very morning and declared me to be out of any danger. 'Fit as a fiddle,' I believe were his words. For you to suppose otherwise must make him either a quack or simply not as knowledgeable as yourself. If the first, I must ask why you allowed such a man to treat your esteemed wife and the helpless child of your friend. If the second, then you are omniscient, and it begs the question of why you bothered to have him come at all."

He scowled. "Elizabeth, dearest, have I ever told you: you are an imp."

A smile spread across her face as she slowly brought her knees to her chest before stretching her legs back out to shift the blankets downward with her feet. "Yes love, you have. And so I am. But what, pray, are you?" She crawled towards him, a comely, minx-like expression on her face. Lifting one thigh over his hip, she scooted herself into his lap and straddled him.

He sighed in frustration, though his hands came up to press into her lower back. "I am a concerned husband. With a shrew for a wife."

She shook her head, her hands cradling the nape of his neck, her face inches from his. "Not a concerned husband. A _needy_ one. And not a shrew." She dipped her head and drew a line of kisses up his neck. He sighed and pulled her closer. Reaching his ear, she whispered, "A _jezebel_."

He groaned. "_Lizzy_. We cannot. You should not engage in activities of too…_vigorous_ a nature. What is more, we have a responsibility to our guests. Or have you forgotten?"

She continued to spread kisses down his neck and across his jawline. "Not forgotten. Simply put them to the side for the moment to cater to more _urgent_ matters." She finally lifted her head and pressed a hot kiss to his lips, and he breathed something like a moan against hers. She pulled back, clutching his hair tighter.

"Please, Darcy." Her need had suddenly escalated beyond her own expectations. In an unconscious act of that need, she began undulating her hips into his. He groaned and pulled her mouth back to his. "Please," she panted in between taking long, deep drags of his lips. "It has been two nights since you have taken me. I _need_ you. Please." She ground her hips more demandingly. He growled, looking at her with warning eyes. "_Please_," she pleaded again in a low whimper. She was panting, ready, and not too proud to beg. "_Please_, William."

With another growl, he grabbed her hip with one hand and splayed another hand across her lower back as he shifted her back to lay before him on the bed. Quickly, she discarded her own nightgown as he worked on the buttons of his trousers. Shifting her hips somewhat away from him but keeping her thighs overlaying his, he positioned himself at her entrance but stayed still, toying with her. She whimpered and arched her back in silent solicitation. His wolfish smile disappeared and was replaced with a predatory, grim set of his lips as he finally sank into her. She moaned and he leaned down to cover her mouth with his.

"We need to be quiet about it, Lizzy," he said in a breathless growl. "Our guests."

Gripping her hips, he thrust to a rapidly escalating tempo. Husband and wife both knew this would not be a lengthy coupling. They had gone too long, needed each other with too much ferocity, to make it last. It wasn't long until he threw his head back, his mouth slack and open, his eyes squeezed shut with the onset of ecstasy. She grabbed a fistful of their satin sheets and bit down on them hard as she felt her climax rushing forward. A few more thrusts and they both climaxed hard, shuddering violently and clamping their mouths shut to keep in the ecstatic cries of achievement. Gasping, he let himself fall forward into her body. She slid her arms around his shoulders, hugging him to her as they both recovered.

Eventually, he pulled back, dotting kisses across her dear face before crouching back on his haunches with a pleasantly spent, post-coital groan. She smiled, rubbing his thighs. "Thank you."

He shot her a look. "Unfortunately, I am no gentleman and that was not chivalry. As I ceded to you, so I did to myself."

She sat up, repositioning herself into straddling him, and kissed his lips. "Well, it sorted out well for me in the end, so your complete lack of restraint and husbandly generosity is no matter." He smacked her bottom, smiling rakishly when she yelped. "Brute!" A pert gleam lit her eyes. "Sir, if you can do..." She raised her eyebrows and wagged her head, suddenly unwilling to say the words. Still smiling, he nodded his understanding. "Right. _That_…with such ardor," she continued, "I would have you satisfy a similar behest for me. Or rather, for our guests."

His expression showed his acute alarm. "_Pardon_ me, shrew?"

With a laugh, she explained. "No, nothing of _this_ particular nature, obviously! This use of your body is for me and me alone to enjoy. I pity the woman who would think otherwise. 'Tis not a pretty death, being ripped limb from limb." She kissed the corner of his jaw. "No, what I rather hoped is that you might consent to expending more energy in a fencing match with Richard and Lord Carlyle, and perhaps even Mr. Kelsey. For our entertainment."

"Our?"

"The ladies, of course. And my father and Mr. Gardiner."

He shook his head. "Out of the question."

A crinkle indented her brow. "Whyever not?"

"Because," he huffed. "'Tis an activity engaged in in gentlemen only fencing clubs for a reason. It is a sweaty, sometimes brutal affair. Not at all appropriate viewing for ladies."

"I beg to differ. The sport is put on display for women quite often these days. The diversion is presented at court regularly."

He scoffed. "What the prince deems as appropriate entertainment and what the rest of self-respecting England does are two separate spheres."

"What can be the harm in it if our party does not object?" she argued. "I am fairly certain the ladies would find it exciting. Perhaps if he is feeling up to it, we could even bring Teddy down from his room to enjoy it as well. He is a boy after all, who as of yesterday has proven he has an even greater affinity for adventure than most eight year-old boys do. I should think he would greatly like to see a fencing match, especially were his own father to participate. Richard certainly would not object and Lord Carlyle and Kelsey too would be agreeable, I think."

He shifted away from her, looking at her suspiciously. "Lizzy, you did not inquire of them, did you?"

She looked offended. "No, of course not."

"Because that would have been deeply improper."

She looked at him squarely. "_No_, sir. I did not." She scooted back off his lap.

He sighed, feeling irked at having lost the contact of her naked body against him. "I was only asking, Elizabeth. There is no need to take offense."

She jumped up off the bed, yanking her robe from the bedpost. "I suppose you have every reason to doubt my sense of propriety. After the display my family presented at the ball, who would blame you? Naturally, my reasoning must fall under suspicion as well."

His eyes narrowed. "That is unfair."

"Is it? Tell me, Mr. Darcy – if you consented to the fencing match would you feel the _further_ besmirchment of your reputation? Do you feel it necessary to avoid _any_ possible disreputable behavior, in the interest of protecting what is left of your good name?"

He was flabbergasted. "What can you mean by asking these questions of me, Lizzy? Where is this coming from?"

She looked both contemplative and defensive, chewing her lip and jutting her hip as she displaced her weight to one leg. "I would have an answer, sir. Please."

Put on guard by her sudden formality, his look hardened. "Then I must admit to having some concern in that area, yes. 'Tis vital we put our best foot forward at this point, at least until the scandal has blown over."

Her eyes widened. "_Scandal_. I find that a great stretch, sir. An impropriety that needs to be overcome, certainly. A stain on our reputation, yes. But is it really so great a breach to your eyes as to be called a _scandal_?"

He was gravely silent for a moment, then nodded. "Indeed. Much as it pains me to say it."

She gawked at him, then turned her back. He rose on his knees and scooted to the edge of the bed. "Elizabeth?"

She reached an arm behind her as if to stay him. He waited. When she stayed rigid in her place and still did not speak, he marveled. How had they even arrived at this argument? One minute they were making passionate love and the next they were locked in an apparently _very_ testy disagreement. He sighed_. I suppose it had to come to this eventually. We cannot pretend ignorance of the issues which must be discussed_. He broke the silence.

"You must understand," he said in a soft, tutorial tone. "The standards of my circle are more severe than I believe you realize at this time. The longer you move in society, the more you shall understand. In being wary, I act only in our best interest."

She shook her head. "It is only a fencing match," she said quietly.

"Yes, and the smallest straw can break the camel's back once it is already under a great weight."

He heard her scoff. Turning, she licked her lips in that way which signaled her acute ire had been triggered. "Do you know what I think, Mr. Darcy? I think we are not speaking of a fencing match, or even the ball. Not really, or at the least not on their own. I think in truth, they are simply extensions of the larger "scandal": our marriage. Or rather, yours, to a woman of my station."

To her utter contempt, his expression turned haughty. And dismissive. "And now you grow ridiculous, Lizzy."

Her cheeks turned red with her contempt. How she _hated_ seeing that expression on his face! It had been a long time since it had reared its ugly head, and now that it had, she found she had no patience for it. "Those are fair words from a man who has not denied it," she spat.

"I _do_ deny it!" he said vehemently, suddenly angry. Jumping off the bed, he stuffed his member back into his breeches, buttoning it away. Facing her, he said, "You are unfair! Have I not always assured you of my love? Of my acceptance of the circumstances to which you were born? I told you, I gave you my word that we would weather society's disapproval together, that I should care not a jot for it so long as I had you! What have I done to refute that? Tell me, Lizzy."

She stared into his eyes, flinching not the least in the face of his anger. "You promised me also that we would be friends always. _Confidantes_. That we would share our every thought and fear with one another. It is not what you have _done_ to refute your promise, Mr. Darcy; the betrayal is in what you have not _said_. I am not afraid to hear the words, though they will no doubt sting. I would regardless have your honesty rather than false comfort. The ball, my request for a match, and the likelihood of any future indiscretion on my part or my family's only add to the burden you carry in having married me. You _do_ care for what your society thinks, for whether or not you ever admit it to me, what occurred at the ball was so very shameful to you because of how it would be perceived: as confirmation that you had chosen foolishly in marrying me. After all, you 'do not suffer looking foolish' with grace."

Angered by her accusation and hurt at her having used his words from their wedding night against him, he answered her coldly. "Have it your way. I was ashamed of your family. There. And I _do_ worry for my reputation."

"Because you look a fool for having chosen me?" she coaxed determinedly.

He looked at her with such intensity as to burn a hole right through her. Then, ceding, he closed his eyes and nodded, once. It was all that was necessary.

She swallowed. Well, there it was. Stepping away from him, she rang the servants' bell for Anne. Fighting to keep her expression neutral, she said, "Thank you for your honesty, sir. 'Twas all I wanted from you. Rest assured, I shall not renew my behest for a match. I have other activities with which to divert our friends. And now you must go and ready yourself. We have neglected them long enough, I think."

He felt his anger draining from him, replaced with aghast contrition. What had just happened? What had he done? Gathering himself, he answered her tersely, bowed and left the room.

He had barely shut the door when she burst into tears.

She sat on the bed, her head on her drawn-up knees, as she cried. It wasn't long before she heard Anne's soft knock. Wiping her cheeks, she answered softly for her to enter. Anne did, and tried not to look alarmed at seeing her mistress in tears. Lizzy lifted her chin; it was a habit she was picking up on when in the role of Mistress of Pemberley. She kept her voice steady, polished.

"My light rose gown, if you would, Anne."

* * *

Finding other diversion for her guests really wasn't such a taxing affair that day. Most of them had slept in almost as late as the Darcys and so were just now wandering into the halls in search of something to do after taking luncheon in their rooms. The Kelseys, of course, were still with their son. Elizabeth ended up taking the ladies (all except Mary, who wanted to be in the library) and Darcy took the men (all except Mr. Bennet, who also wanted to be in the library). The ladies spent an entertaining afternoon practicing at caricature art while the men indeed whiled the day away in the fencing gym. As the afternoon wore on, Lizzy kept hoping her husband would relent and send for the women to join him in the gym. He did not. So she squared her shoulders, willing herself not to give in to her despair of earlier, and set herself to simply enjoying the company of her new friends and family.

Again, it wasn't hard. So impressed was everyone by her that her biggest problem was simply bearing the compliments. Over and over again, the ladies – excepting the dowager, who was as quiet as ever, and Josephine, who was as quiet as _never_ – re-hashed their different perspectives of the day, recounting their own horrified feelings, their desire to be of some use, and their utter admiration for Lizzy's heroism. Her mother, who of course hadn't been there, settled simply for hearing the accounts with wide eyes, only ever occasionally throwing in stories of Lizzy's compassion and courage from when she was a wee girl. Lizzy was astonished at her mother's restraint, but of course, she could not know that the reason for such uncharacteristic behavior was simply that she was nearly soiling her pants with fear. Fear of none other than Mr. Bennet - the same man who had carelessly let his fifteen year-old daughter become a shameless cad's meat grinder. But that was before he had witnessed his favorite daughter suffer disgrace during her first foray into high society entertaining. For upon seeing that, the irresponsible father and negligent husband had finally had enough. By the time he had finished with Fanny Bennet, she had been tongue-lashed up one side, down the other, and threatened with every possible retribution just short of physical harm if she did not conduct herself sensibly for the remainder of their stay. And that was _before_ Mr. Darcy had shown up at her door to have a word with his mother-in-law.

As the afternoon passed away uneventfully for the ladies, so it did for the men. Mostly. Mr. Gardiner and Sir Whittaker chose to sit out and enjoy the benefits of observation while the younger men hacked away at each other. After finishing a particularly brutal match against one another, Col Fitzwilliam and Darcy took themselves off to the side to yield the floor to Kelsey and Carlyle. Col Fitzwilliam, breathing hard and taking a big gulp of water from his mug, looked at his cousin curiously.

"I say, man, what demon is riding your back?"

Darcy, leaning with a hand splayed against a pillar and catching his own breath, shot him a look of aggravation. "I have no idea what you can mean by that."

Richard scoffed in between gasps. "I refer to you nearly throwing your shoulder out attempting to tear me to shreds out there. You will be devilishly sore come tomorrow. What is it that has you so worked up?"

Darcy shook his head of sweaty curls, placing his sword in its place. "Nothing."

Richard gave him a doubtful look before pouring a jug of water over his face and shoulders. "God, but that is delightful!" he hooted. He handed the jug to Darcy and motioned toward the water trough. "Now you. You shall feel like a new man!" He shook his hair out and grinned.

Darcy took the jug, shaking his head and muttering to himself. "And this is what I meant. Look at you - the very image of some wanton's erotic fantasy, or worse, a peddling street-deviant with your shirt plastered to you like that. 'Tis not fit for ladies' eyes. The only man she should see looking thusly is _me_. But would she be reasonable? _Noooo_." He splashed water over his face, his expression sour.

Richard smiled. "Ah. So this _is_ about Elizabeth."

Darcy grimaced. "Who else would be so impossible as to anger me so? Unmovable, irascible woman."

The colonel's brow crinkled. "What on earth could you have found to argue with her about after such a harrowing day yesterday? I half-expected you would keep her holed up in your room for the next three days, coddling her like the besotted puppy you are. Or are you angry with her because she would not let you do just that?"

Darcy shot him a haughty look over the rim of his water cup and gave an aristocratic wave of his hand. "I have no wish to discuss matters of my marriage with you."

His cousin rolled his eyes. "Prick."

Darcy choked. "Excuse me?" he asked between sputtering breaths.

Richard grinned. "I called you a prick. For you are, or can be. Let me see; if I was to guess, and guess correctly I dare say, I would say your little fight had something to do with the very same prick-ish, Darcy contempt you are treating me with now. 'I have no wish to discuss matters of my marriage with you,'" he quoted in his haughtiest tone, waving a princely hand. "You would give my father a run for his money, I can tell you that."

Darcy glowered. "You toe a thin line, cousin."

Col Fitzwilliam only laughed good-naturedly. "What are you going to do? Rip me apart? You just tried that and sadly, failed. Throw me out? Ah, but your lovely wife will bid me stay, as _she_ is all generosity."

Darcy grumbled something to himself about "her generosity" and "all but me," and Richard's eyes softened. "Darcy, in all frankness; teasing aside. True, it may be none of my business but she is a rare jewel, your Elizabeth. I watched her lay her life on the line like the best of soldiers yesterday to save a child she barely knew. Whatever the trouble is, sort it out. If it is your pride, swallow it. She is worth the indigestion."

He clapped his cousin on the back, then turned his attention to the sport on the floor. "Oh for God's sake, Kelsey!" he yelled. "Parry! You look like a shite-stuffed, light-footed fairy at his mother's Twelfth Night Ball! This is fencing, not _A Midsummer's Night Dream_! Parry!"

**Chapter 19**

Despite the colonel's sagely advice, the next day saw two foolish lovers waking up in two empty beds. Determined to be the perfect hostess on what was to be the last full day at Pemberley for many of her guests, Lizzy resolved to put it out of her mind that Darcy had, for the first time in their marriage, slept away from her. She faithfully hosted an in-house treasure hunt, letting a recovered (and devoted) Teddy act as her "assistant" with the categorization of the retrieved items. The luncheon table was perfectly set, and in the late afternoon, the gentlemen sat for their caricatures for the ladies, an activity which met with laughter and light-hearted jabs for more than one man. During all of this, the master and mistress were perfectly polite to each other. Perfectly polite and perfectly distant. And absolutely bereft.

As Anne helped her prepare for dinner, Lizzy's thoughts drifted to Darcy, and their argument of the day before. Tears stung her eyes as she recalled his words. She _had_ asked for them. And she did not regret eliciting an honest confession from him. She had claimed that she could take it, and was now resolved to be a big girl and do just that. Still, the confession stung as acutely as the ice water at the rink had. But it wasn't even the words so much as the way in which he had said them. Cold. And yet…she _missed_ him! His haughty expression flashed through her mind and she couldn't stifle a noise of disgust. Blast the man! Anne looked at her curiously at the noise as she dressed her hair. Lizzy waved her hand and gave her a small smile. "Men," was all she said quietly. With a nod and a smirk, her maid knowingly rolled her eyes.

Lizzy couldn't decide: was she more disgusted with Darcy's haughty look or at her own longing for him? Either way, she began to form a resolve. If he did not come to her, she would come to him. For better or worse, this disagreement came to a head tonight.

Dinner was, thankfully, a friendly affair. The party were now completely comfortable with each other, and disappointed to be parting the next day. Overall, conversation flowed easily and spirits were high (if one didn't count the fact that Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were barely speaking to each other). With a surge of pure pleasure, Elizabeth saw that even her husband's snootiest friends now seemed completely accepting of the Gardiners. Whether or not it lasted outside of Pemberley, at least here, for now, the taboo of _tradesmen_ was of no consequence.

Once again, the quietest of the dinner guests were Lady Radcliffe and Josephine. Lizzy's eyes narrowed as she considered Josephine. The young woman wasn't reaching out much to make conversation, but neither was she being solicited. It was odd; Josephine had been so popular only two days ago. It was difficult _not_ to like her. She could only guess that others were taken aback by her cowardice on the ice nearly as much as she had been. Even now, she could not but feel wary of her, remembering the feelings of repulsed betrayal that had coursed through her when she had pleaded for help only to be met with fearful and blatant refusal. But despite herself, her tender heart could not help but feel for the girl. To experience the cold dismissal of the party at large for acting on a perfectly sensible (though _cowardly_) survival instinct must be hurtful and embarrassing. Hadn't she felt those feelings of rejection herself only a few days ago? She chewed her lip as she thought it over. Briefly, her eyes met with the other woman's. Josephine blushed furiously and looked away quickly. Were those tears she was blinking back? Oh, heaven help it! She felt a pang of sympathy.

Around the third course, Lady Radcliffe chose to astonish the company (it was apparently her thing). That is, the noblewoman finally spoke. And incredulously, it was to Mrs. Bennet. "Mrs. Darcy's ball was rather lovely, do not you think, madam?"

Conversation ceased. Poste-haste. All eyes turned toward Mrs. Bennet, who sat wide-eyed. Darcy's and Lizzy's faces also registered alarm. Despite the hush, Lizzy almost swore she heard something; what was that sound? Oh - the other shoe dropping.

It took a moment for Fanny to collect herself before smiling tightly and responding respectfully, "Indeed, it was, your Ladyship. I was quite proud of my daughter; though I cannot say I was surprised. Our Lizzy is excessively talented at anything she puts her mind to." Her voice lacked its usual stridency, and she said the polite words as if reading them off a script. But she said them, and without spasming like a dying roach, so it counted for something.

The dowager seemed to think it over, then nodded. "I am sure you are right." She looked at Elizabeth pointedly. The young woman just blinked back at her. _Wait. What?_

The Lady Radcliffe spoke to Mrs. Bennet again. "So you enjoyed yourself, then?"

Mrs. Bennet turned red. "I – yes, your Ladyship. But, you see, I was not, um – not quite _myself_ that night. I have been feeling much better, however."

The Lady responded with a sagely nod. Then she _harrumphed. _It was a small, amused sound. "Yes. Well, I for one enjoy a good ball." She turned to direct her words to the whole assembly. "When last I was at court for a masque, Prinny was almost beside himself with joy at having French champagne again. The embargos, you know. Made it quite impossible." The others nodded. Mrs. Bennet too nodded with a smile as if she did know. Never mind that she barely knew what the hell the word _embargo_ meant.

"So excited was the man," the great lady continued, "that he quite over-imbibed. And do you know what he did?"

Mr. Bennet, one sardonic eyebrow quirked, said, "Your Ladyship, I can only imagine; and my imagination as concerns the prince is a limitless thing."

The dowager smiled. A real smile. Lizzy was astonished to see the old woman was quite beautiful when she smiled. Like she was young again.

"Good sir," said the lady, "he took off nearly every last article of his clothing, wrapped his coat round his hips and declared he was a Scottish Lord. Then he did a jig across the tables!" With a clap of her hands, she laughed delightedly.

The rest of the table looked around at each other, chuckling only hesitantly. Then the picture she had painted really began to sink in; the fat, foppish prince, half-naked, a coat round his waist, blubbery belly and feminine breasts bouncing in time with a drunken river dance. Oh, and heavens; barely covered male parts jostling in the face of some poor man who, for the love of everything holy, just wanted to eat his mutton (_whimper_)! The image was both grotesque and just a small bit incredibly _hilarious_. They laughed harder. And harder.

Slapping his hand against the table, Sir Alfred hooted, "Old Prinny never does know when to stop! Why, I've heard he wears Princess Caroline's dresses when he's good and sotted!"

"He does," the dowager smirked. "And looks better in them than she does."

"Really?" drawled Darcy slyly. "I should think he would stretch them out."

The table roared again and was soon off like a shot with jokes about the royals. Breathing a sigh of relief, Lizzy laughed along with the others. Catching her eye, the dowager winked. Elizabeth, bowled over, could only nod slightly in thanks. She had no idea what had elicited the woman's kindness toward her or her family, but she would accept it wholeheartedly!

In her excitement, she didn't see the snickering scowl Josephine tried to hide. But someone else did.

* * *

When the party retired to the salon afterward, the men and women separated for a time, as was customary. Josephine looked for her opportunity to get Elizabeth alone. But her hostess stayed behind the coffee table, serving her guests, or was otherwise engaged in conversation with that fawning Lady Noelle. Sipping from her coffee cup, Josephine glared at them from across the room. It seemed she had been replaced. Who knew the oh-so-honorable Elizabeth Darcy could be so fickle in her friendship? It wasn't as if Josephine had pushed her into the water, for goodness sake! What the dolt had asked of her, anyone with a shred of interest in self-preservation would have refused. If only she would stop being so high and damned mighty and get on with the forgiveness business, Josephine would be accepted back into the fold with alacrity. It was an odd feeling, being on the outside. She didn't like it one bit. But, she reminded herself, that was beside the point. A little discomfort at the disapproval of a few marginally significant people was nothing in the grand scheme of things. The most important thing was, she needed the dim-witted concubine to like her again so she could get on with her work. She knew her path. If she deviated from it at all, Rebecca would have her head. Her nurse had been furious when she had heard of her charge's massive setback, brought down upon her by nothing but her own impulsiveness. Josephine knew she was right to be angry. She had to bounce back from this. No more asinine, petty decisions could be made if she was to get what she wanted.

Just then, what she _wanted_ walked into the room with the rest of the gentlemen. Rising to her feet with the other ladies, she dropped a pretty curtsey before sitting back down to observe him with hungry eyes. She couldn't suppress a sigh. But God, he was beautiful. Approaching the coffee table, he solicited his wife for a cup of coffee. Her eyes narrowed as she took in their interaction. Elizabeth didn't even look at him as she poured him a cup of the steaming brew, keeping her distance as she had been doing the past two days. Nor did he have anything in particular to say to her, it seemed, though he did look…pained? Still, absent were the sickening, discreet little touches they rejoiced in when they thought no one was looking. No putty-headed smiles or "wait-until-I-get-you-alone-I-will-maul-you against-a-wall" explicit glances. If one didn't know any better, one would think they were nothing more than polite acquaintances. Her mouth upturned into a small smile. _Well, well. Trouble in paradise, it seems._ She hoped to God at least _some_ of it was owed to her.

As the evening unfolded, Josephine made a show of standing in the midst of assembled groups and looking hurt when her presence was all but ignored. She cast covert glances every now and then at Mrs. Darcy and was rewarded a time or two with seeing her concerned, sympathetic expression. But always, the woman turned away and gave her attention back to her current partners in conversation. _Ungrateful wench!_ Josephine thought. Finally, she resorted to a last-ditch effort and removed herself to the portico, her lips pursed together as if to suppress her tears. She didn't need to look behind her to know that Mrs. Darcy's eyes would be following.

Standing at the railing, she did not have to wait long before she heard the rustling of skirts behind her. She smirked. The soft-hearted chit just couldn't help herself, could she? She let her shoulders tremble just so with her tears, bringing her handkerchief up to her eyes to dab away the moisture. In her head, she rehearsed the load of shite she and Rebecca had come up with about her having fallen into a frozen lake herself when she was young, barely surviving. It should do the trick nicely.

Nothing could have surprised her more when her visitor finally materialized a few feet to the side of her, and it was…_Lady Radcliffe? What could _she_ want?_

Josephine dabbed again at her eyes, then curtseyed with a look of utter embarrassment on her face. "Your Ladyship," she said, her voice hoarse with her tears.

The great lady simply nodded and then stared out at the stars with appreciation, taking in a deep breath of the frigid night air. Josephine was at a loss for what to do, and so only bit her lip and contrived to look miserable.

"A lovely night," the lady finally observed in a bland tone.

Josephine nodded. "Indeed, it is." Her voice was soft. Sad.

The dowager turned and looked at her boldly. "Yes, well there's enough of that. You and I both know that you are not out here to enjoy a bit of frosty air, or suffer like a saint in silence."

Her voice was authoritative, frank, and somewhat…amused? Josephine was stunned.

"I come only to offer some advice, young lady," she continued in a drawl. "I have lived a great many years in society, almost all of them in court. There, the ladies are ruthless; I have seen the best of them play the game. There, a rule is known to them, the greatest rule of them all, and that is that a lady must know her enemy." She motioned her head toward the salon. "_She_ is not so soft as you believe, I think. And _he_ is latched on like a piglet at teats. Take a page from the book of the greats, then, my girl: know when to give it up."

She straightened. Ignoring Josephine's gaping mouth, she sniffed the night air once more. "Yes; a lovely night, indeed." She turned to go inside, where a lively country tune from the pianoforte was mixing with the sounds of buzzing conversation and bursts of shared laughter. At the doorway, she threw over her shoulder, "Try not to catch cold, my dear. Damn silly cause for that."

Josephine stood in her place. She didn't close her mouth for a solid five minutes.

* * *

In the very late hours of that night, the final guests retired contentedly to their chambers, having said their goodbyes and exchanged promises of meeting during the Season. The day had been another success for Mrs. Darcy. _Mr._ Darcy now paused at the door adjoining the sitting room to his wife's bedchamber. _His_ bedchamber, usually. Unless she got the urge to sleep in his actual bedchamber, in which case that was where he slept. So really his bedchamber was just wherever she was. Tonight, however, as last night, he wasn't sure how welcome he would be. He raised his hand to knock, but just then the door swung open and he stood face-to-face with his wife.

She looked to take a step before she saw him and her eyes widened. "Darcy?"

He stood erect, looking sheepish. "Yes."

"Oh. Were you here for…something?"

His face fell. "I…I had hoped…but I suppose not…"

She looked hopeful. "Were you waiting to come in, perhaps?"

He blinked. "Yes. But I was not sure of a welcome reception."

She sighed, fixing him with an impatient look. "Do you not always sleep here?"

"Yes."

"And so I hope you always shall, no matter the circumstances. In fact, I was just on my way to entreat you to join me."

He visibly relaxed. She stepped back, allowing him to slide inside and close the door behind him before they both climbed into bed. They sat awkwardly for a minute. Then they both spoke at once.

"I have been thinking – "

"Dearest, I wish to tell you – "

They stopped, both chuckling nervously. "Ladies first," he said.

She shook her head solemnly. "Oh no. I would much rather hear what you have to say."

He sighed. Leaning against the pillows, he took a minute to gather his words. She was so much better at the talking thing than him. "Pride is a fault which you always seem to catch me indulging in, Lizzy," he began. "In fact, I seem a glutton for punishment, as I too often allow it to take hold of me in your presence and consequently receive my comeuppance in a tongue-lashing of epic proportions."

She couldn't help but chuckle, to which he responded with a slight smile. "They hurt, those tongue-lashings," he continued. "But none hurt so much as your stoicism." He turned feeling eyes on her. "I would rather endure a thousand diatribes than feel so distanced from you, as I have felt these past two days."

She sighed, her expression affectionate. "I feel the same."

He smiled gratefully. Tentatively, he reached for her hand. Finding it, he reveled in her soft grip. She was not rejecting him. Carefully, he threaded his fingers through hers. She allowed it. He shook his head. "How can you be so generous with me, love?"

She shrugged, almost shyly. "Well, I have had some time to think all this over. We were both at fault in the exchange. I started it."

"Yes, but I finished it," he answered sorrowfully. "And not well. I hurt you. And for that I cannot express the depths of my contrition. I would do anything to spare you pain, and yet I inflicted it."

She shook her head. "You were honest," she said softy. "I asked it of you. I am the one who used your own words against you. You said them to me in a moment of unguardedness on the most beautiful of nights. I should never have twisted them so." She caught his eye, speaking with all the emphasis she felt. "I will _never_ do it again. Our moments of vulnerability in our bed are sacred. It is when we are our truest selves. We should neither of us turn those moments into ones in which to fear judgment or censure. Have we a deal?"

He nodded, his eyes pooling with affection. "We do. Thank you for your apology."

She smiled. "I _can_ give them, occasionally. I am only parsimonious in the distribution because they burn in my mouth, not unlike dry ice. It is only for the greatest of infractions then, that I suffer the pain."

He chuckled, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. "Duly noted." Their smiles faded and they lapsed back into awkward silence. He sighed; here was the hard part. It was his turn now. He cleared his throat. "But Lizzy…"

She looked at him from under thick lashes. He shifted to look at her more closely. "The Darcy family pride is a hard thing to stomp out. Much as you have humbled me in the year and few months I have known you, it had still been inbred in me for a lifetime beforehand that my duty is to my family's honor. You must forgive me if it takes me some time to truly let those beliefs go. And to…readjust my…_prickish_ standards of acceptable behavior."

She raised an eyebrow at the vulgarity, prepared to laugh until he looked at her with his infamous intensity and spoke feelingly, "But never, _never_ doubt my pride in you. Regardless of what any of society thinks, _you_ are the best of me. There is no woman in the _ton_ or in the world to match you. Winning you, your approval, was the greatest achievement of my life, and someday I will be worthy of you, Lizzy, I will. When I think of how close I came to losing you on the ice that day…just the _thought_ - it - "

His voice cracked and he was unable to continue. He clenched his jaw and she was astonished when his eyes grew moist. Her stoic, rigid Mr. Darcy, near tears? It was unheard of. She smiled, gently taking his face in her hands. "My beautiful man," she whispered, her forehead against his.

He shook his head, murmuring quietly. "I _want_ to be the man you deserve, but I always seem to fail you, Lizzy. You are so very _good_. I feel as if I am always catching up."

She snorted, drawing back to look into his eyes. "Not _so_ very good. And _you_ are the best man I know! There is no goodness greater than yours. You are _more_ than I deserve. But let us not go round and round on this – if you say I am good, and I say you are good, then let us agree we are well-matched. And never question it again." She kissed him tenderly. "Yes?" He nodded.

They kissed again, softly, tenderly. Looking into his eyes, she wordlessly slid down onto the sheets and held her arms open to him. He went to her, placing feather-soft kisses over her features. Drawing back to look at her, he said, "I am sorry I hurt you. And that I stayed away."

She nodded, placing a finger on his lips. "Silly man. I want you should always come to me as you are. _Never_ leave my bed again. But now, speak of it no more."

Her gown was soon drawn over her head so that he could worship every inch of her with kisses. She sighed at his ministrations. Sighs turned to mews as his kisses set her afire. Returning his smoldering look as he held one foot in his hand, she gasped when he bit and licked at her toes. The act was sensual, yet reverent. He kissed her sole, then lay his cheek against it. "It drowns me, this love," he said. It wasn't a romantic statement so much as an observation, almost to himself. "I am overtaken by you. You have all of me."

"Not all of you; not yet," she replied. "I have missed you. Come to me, William. I need you inside of me."

He didn't need another invitation. Drawing his shirt over his head, he moved over her. He slid into her gently, looking into her eyes. "I love you," he whispered as he moved. She responded in kind, and pulled him close, wrapping her legs around him in a vise. Despite the intensity of the moment, she beamed against his mouth as he kissed her, and he smiled back as he stroked tenderly. Then it struck her how absurdly _serious_ they had been acting and she laughed at their absurdity, her giggles bubbling over into his mouth. He looked at her curiously but laughed with her, infected with her contagious spirit.

"William, you are making an old woman of me!" she whined into his neck.

He feigned offense. "An old woman? Would I do _this_ to an old woman, madam?" He thrust into her once, hard. She laugh-moaned, arching against him.

"_There_ is the man I married!" she exclaimed.

His broad shoulders shook over her with his laughter and she knew then, in his arms, that everything would be well. He wasn't perfect. Neither was she. And still, everything would always be well, even when it wasn't. Because _they_, together, would fight through anything, for what truly mattered: each other.

And, of course, they would laugh. Oh, they would always laugh.

As the couple tumbled head-long into their own little world, Josephine sat crouched outside their chamber, her ear against the door. She heard the ribald noises, the soft, tender sighs, and the laughter.

"Ow! Dammit, shrew, not there!" she heard Darcy curse, to his wife's giggles. Then, "Ohhh, _Lizzy_." He said her name with such reverence. It tore at her to hear.

She slumped against the door. She hated her. HATED her.

Wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, she pulled a silver object out from under her. It was a fork. The same perfectly polished fork he had eaten from tonight. Oh, she had washed it after pilfering it, of course. She was not completely insane. Or disgusting. But his lips had still touched it. His essence was still on it. She touched her mouth to the prongs, closing her eyes. The footman standing guard for her shot her an odd and slightly repulsed look. "What are you looking at?" she spat quietly. "Do your job and keep watch if you want to get paid, idiot." He snorted resentfully, but went back to looking out for trouble.

She closed her eyes again, savoring the stolen intimacy. It was pathetic that this was a close as she had ever gotten to his lips, and she knew it. Behind the door, Elizabeth Bennet was calling his name in rapture.

She was licking forks.

Her knuckles tightened around the utensil. So the whore had had her victory at Pemberley. Let her have it. It meant nothing. Josephine wasn't done with her. She wasn't giving up. The Season was starting. _London_ – _her_ territory. She wiped her tears, nodding to herself. No matter what anyone, even that old magpie Lady _Ratface_ said, there she would have her _own_ victory. She touched the fork to her lips, sucking it between her teeth.

Yes; there, she would have Darcy.

* * *

**A/N:** Crazy wench. So what do you think; was it worth it to post them both? D'aww for E&D _loooove, _right_?_ Our couple's first major fight as husband and wife and they made it through. And how about that Lady Radcliffe? Ha! I _love_ her! Leave me your thoughts!


	21. Chapter 20

**A/N: **Yay! Your new post is here! Just FYI, on Saturday August 24 around noon-ish (according to Eastern Time here in the ole U.S. of A), I made some edits to the last post to clarify some aspects of the plot and be a little truer to the nature of my characters. Re-read if you want. The edits were mostly to the parts from Josephine's POV and D&E's apology (after consideration, that scene was a smidgeon too melodramatic to sit right with me). Please forgive of me my narrative sins, oh Reader, I always try to be tight in my plotting and character development, but sometimes I slip (shocking, I know!).

Also, a couple of awesome reviewers have constructively zinged me for minor slip-ups in historical accuracy. I truly value feedback (for real) and in many ways I'd wager you're _right_, lol! Duly noted. Hey, I'm a student - words like "homework" and "research" in my spare time make me want to curl up in a ball and sing "Jesus Loves Me." I'm glad it was brought up, because it's a good excuse to assure you all ahead of time that I've done my homework regarding the _broader_ backdrop of the time I'm currently writing for (1811) as it will pertain to the story. Admittedly, I am and will take creative licensing with certain aspects of early 19th century British history, and even do a bit of stretching, but still my plan for their integration into the story is based on research. Sound good? :)

And now, I present to you a lengthy chapter 20. Not a whole lot of E&D here (sorry), but a lot of other factors to get you thinking. The war…er, I mean the _Season,_ is starting... ***Warning: some mature content* **

* * *

Chapter 20

The Fitzwilliam family carriage, flanked by two armed horsemen and an armed footman on the back rumble, ambled its way down a quiet country lane. The destination: London. The passengers: one Miss Josephine Chadwicke and her nurse, Miss Rebecca White. Col Fitzwilliam had parted with the ladies mid-journey to join his regiment to the east. Ever the gentleman, he had insisted they continue on in the Earl of Matlock's plush coach, and hired for himself a private equipage. The ladies had feigned great disappointment at the loss of his company, but in truth they were both relieved. For Josephine's part, her patience with playing the sweet and guileless cousin had long ago worn thin. Miss White, however, was happy at the chance to force unpleasant but necessary conversation in a situation where her charge could have no hope of escape. If that meant displacing Clara, the lady's maid, to a completely improper (not to mention chilly) position next to the driver on the outside of the carriage, so be it. She would take no risks in being overheard. With one appalled Clara safely squashed next to one scandalized driver, she had started in on Josephine almost immediately, and the two were now locked in a touchy disagreement.

"Oh for the blood of Christ, will you let it be?!" Josephine was saying. "For the thousandth time, Rebecca, I cannot say what my intentions were, as I do not _know_. Perhaps I hoped to make her fall in. Or perhaps I otherwise desired to draw attention to the fact that she had placed her guests in a situation which could have easily proven dangerous. I was cross. I could hardly have been expected to think clearly."

"I dare say, precious poppet, you were not _thinking_ at all," Miss White rejoined patiently. "To my mind you were simply _feeling_. Not unlike those instances wherein you missed opportunities to impress your Mr. Darcy with your conversation. What can be said for that, hmm, my pet? But I know your _feelings_ were injured at his love for the Bennet chit. And when you solicited George to steal you up to their room, so that you might subject yourself to a scene which brought you only senseless tears all night? What then? I shall tell you - your _feelings_ urged you to it."

At the mention of the night when she had sat outside the Darcys' door, Josephine's eyes grew misty and she shot her nurse a look of pure disdain. "Do not remind me of that night, nor judge me for it. You have never loved so well as I love him. If you had, and had heard them…the way he said her name as he…well, you would not be so hasty in your judgment. Until you have felt it, you cannot know the desperation of a broken heart ."

That smarted for Rebecca. Her charge could not know how far she was from the truth. For she had known such love. She loved Josephine more than anything in the world. And for all her talk of staying sensible in the thick of emotions, she knew that if called upon it, she would do anything for her poppet.

Anything.

However, that would not help Josephine to hear now. She needed words of reason. Her nurse sighed and asked, "My dear girl, do you hear yourself?" She made her tone soft, loving. "That you love him, I well know. However if you wish to ever _have_ him, you cannot be ruled by your heart! Not yet. Should you insist upon reacting with irrational emotions with every occasion your spirits fall low, you will lose sight of the path. You will lose, Josephine. To _her_. The upstart _baggage_."

Delicately wiping her tears from her cheeks, Josephine rolled her eyes. "Come off it, Rebecca. Of all of that, I am perfectly aware; you have only told me again and again with every breath you have drawn since that day. Truly, Rebecca, how was I to know it would turn out as it did? I see now by what merits Darcy chooses his friends; drooling boot-lickers, the whole lot. That they should call her a hero for acting to correct a situation she herself had created. What sensible person puts her friends and family on a dicey bit of ice? Stupid toad."

"Oh, indeed, my girl," Rebecca rushed to assure her. "Surely they would have done better to blame her rather than you. But the unjust fact remains, the fools did not. And that _toad_ now has a society darling, a Lord of Parliament, and a powerful countess in her pocket…all because you had an _urge_."

Josephine pouted angrily, ostensibly missing the careful rebuke in Rebecca's words. "Yes, what can she mean, that Lady _Ratface_? Is she mad, to have taken up for a bit of rustic swine against one of her own? She barely spoke two words full to her during the whole of our time there and yet the woman had the nerve to approach me with that spiteful, hateful defense of everybody's precious Mrs. Darcy! What can be her play?"

"'Tis not uncommon for women of standing her age to become bored and take on protégés for charity," Rebecca explained, her voice beginning to betray her impatience. "Dearest, do focus. Can you agree, it matters not what she saw in your Mr. Darcy's wife to draw her attention? The matter is that the Dowager Countess of Nottingham _has_ been engaged, she holds a whiphand over society, and she has called you out. We must be aware of the complications such a situation creates. Tread carefully, my poppet. Oh, so carefully."

Josephine chewed her lip, her eyes narrowing haughtily. "How is it you preach to me of where I erred and yet all your promises of advantage at Pemberley proved false? Your family connections and history came to what? Tea with your good friend the housekeeper who could not be squeezed for a rat dropping's worth of information? A brother who bungled his only job of incapacitating Elizabeth Darcy? Let us not forget the sister who is the personal maid of the lady in question herself, but is too loyal to be of any more use than a cock on a eunuch! How was I to do that which I expected to do without the assistance I _thought_ would be at my disposal? Tell me, Rebecca."

"Firstly: watch your goddamned bloody tongue with me, chit." Miss White had had enough. Gone was the petting woman from earlier. Her eyes grew cold, her tone, even colder. "Do not, no never, forget who it is you speak to."

Josephine flinched, swallowing. The nurse raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips, her expression expectant. But Josephine clinched her jaw stubbornly and did not speak, so Rebecca did again. Leaning forward, she asked in a slow, threatening drawl that somehow sounded almost conversational, "Must I aid your memory, Josephine? Perchance there are past deeds you have forgotten, the loss provoking you to forget yourself. Do you _need_ a reminder? Josephine?"

Josephine's hard gaze persisted for but a moment before she lowered her head and pouted. "No, ma'am," she answered sulkily. She had seen this side of Rebecca before. This cold side with no limits to what it would do. It had ceased scaring her, for the most part, many years ago. Now it only brought her in line, and always with the understanding that it existed at all merely to protect her. It was strangely comforting. But still irksome. She didn't like to be kept in line, for any reason. Petulantly pulling on a loose thread on her seat, she watched it unravel. It left a scar in the luxurious pattern and she amused herself with thinking of the huff it would put her uncle in. She would blame it on Richard. Her pretty pout turned into a small smile. She sniffed delicately, lifting her chin. "Forgive me, Rebecca."

Rebecca studied her intently for a moment. Then, eyes clearing, she sat back. "You are forgiven. Of course. Indeed, am I ever able to stay angry with you?" The two women shared a smile. Then the two ends of Rebecca's one long brow drew together in a return from levity. "Poppet, I would now beg you remember that you _were_ served by my connections. You did see the Bennet girl's ball come to ruin, did you not? Afterward may have seen her making nice with her paltry party of guests, but to the majority of society she is disgraced. A very good start. George too was good for _some_ information; and got for you your Mr. Darcy's shirt, did he not? As for my Anne, though she is loyal to her mistress, loyalty has taught her naught of discretion, or so it is true with me. She will be helpful. I can make sure of it. She will simply not _know_ she is being helpful."

Josephine sighed. "That is something, I suppose."

"Yet there is something else we must know to expect," Rebecca warned. "Your mother has expectations of this Season for you, poppet."

Josephine scoffed, picking a bit of lint off her pelisse. "Her expectations can go to hell. My father will never consent to any match, no matter how advantageous, if I protest. Of that, I am certain."

"Do not be certain!" Miss White retorted quickly, frustrated again. "You are too sure of yourself. You cannot play the game if your pride – and _feelings_ – prevent you from seeing those pieces which are truly before you, as they are. You may be cunning, but mark my words, so is she. What is more, she has years to you, years of practice with her talents. If she truly wanted, she could stomp your lily-livered father into dust. Or: have him eating out of her hand. If I were her, I should choose the latter. 'Tis the smarter move."

Josephine looked to be ill. "Oh, Rebecca. You could not think she means to…ugh!" She cringed.

Rebecca raised her eyebrows. "I _think_, poppet, that she is a wife, after all. Even were not the case, this I _know_: it is never wise to underestimate Lady Miriam Chadwicke."

Josephine's eyes widened. For the first time during their conversation, she looked afraid. "God Almighty," she muttered.

Rebecca leaned over to lay a comforting hand on her charge's knee. "There, now. All will be well. We must simply step around her. We still have our plans. As a matter of fact, I think the thing to do now is…look ahead."

Slowly, Josephine's mouth turned up into a smirk. Her eyes brightened. "Do you mean…"

Rebecca sat back, winking. "No more playing nice. Let us make sure your Mr. Darcy never forgets this Season, in all his years to come. The Bennet chit, too."

Playing with a lock of her hair, Josephine emitted a low, sly chuckle. "Oh, but how could she otherwise? It will be the only one she ever has."

Their coach rambled on until the evening was upon them. By tomorrow they would be in London, but for the night they would have to put up at an inn. As Josephine alit and was hemmed in by Rebecca and her manservants, she said to the driver and a footman, "You two: stay and fetch my trunks from atop the roof, then I suppose you must see to the horses. And do be careful in retrieving the baggage. If so much as one of my belongings suffers from your lack of competence, out of your wages it shall come.

Clara, bring my fur valise in yourself. Otter fur, you know," she simpered. "Such a commodity these days. I'll trust no one else with it." With that, she flounced inside with her retinue. Had she been aware of certain forbidden associations taking place beneath her own nose, she might have reconsidered her choice of which people to order outside.

But as it was, Clara was left alone with someone only too happy to have been handed the opportunity. She sat in the driver's seat of the carriage, a blush already spreading from her hairline to her chest as the dapper, auburn-haired young footman approached.

"May aye assist you in comin' down, Miss Clara?" he asked with a twinkle in his eye.

Clara peeked over at the driver already working to loosen the bindings over the cases atop the roof. He simply shook his head with a grin and looked the other way. In every sense of the phrase. She smiled shyly.

"Why certainly, Mr. Plaskett." Moving toward him, she shivered when his large hands grabbed her around her small waist and effortlessly lifted her from the driver's perch. He held on to her for longer than was necessary, and her blush deepened. Looking around them, he winked at the driver and took her by the hand, walking in the direction of the livery.

"Oh no!" she exclaimed. "Certainly not, Andrew! Can you be mad? Miss Josephine will notice if I am too long in delivering her valise to her."

Her associate just laughed. "Then leave the dragon princess wondr'in and later tell 'er that 'er precious bag was the thing to cause the delay. We could say, 'Oh no, Miss Josephine! It were a dreadful thing! The bag was in a dangerous state, see? Almost crushed among the heavier trunks, so's we had to be careful in extract'in it! For o'course, we would take no chances of it bein' ruined! It bein' so much more impor'ant than all of us put together an' all.'" He smiled devilishly, and she laughed out loud.

"A thin excuse at best, Andrew, and one to catch you a tanning for loading the luggage so carelessly from the first."

He shrugged, reaching the livery. Relieved to see the stableman passed out cold in a corner, he wrapped his arms around her. "She should'na had a thing of such value thrown atop a carriage like any old knapsack anyhow. Her spoilt highness has no understandin' for cherishin' a beautiful thing." He tipped her chin up. "Unlike me."

He kissed her sweetly at first, then with growing urgency. When they separated, she shook her head, her breathing slightly labored. "Too impulsive by half, you are. One day we will be found out and tossed onto the streets to starve. Pray, what will we do then?"

"_Then_, li'll dove," he said, lifting her up against his broad chest, "Aye'll take you home, of course! To Derbyshire. The greatest county in all of England!" She laughed, her arms coming round his neck, her feet swinging well above the ground as he held her against his tall form. They kissed again and he whispered, "It's been long years since aye been 'ome. With you there, aye'll be too happy a man to be borne. Aye'll marry you proper, and introduce you t'my family." His expression turned sheepish and he hung his head. "They don' live comf'table, like yer used to, Clara. Aye...well, aye don' come from much. Farmers, we are, and farriers. But they'll adore you like you've always been one of us, and welcome you right in. And aye'll always take care o'you, I swear it! Anythin' you'll be needin' or wantin', aye'll try ta give it to you, Clara. Aye'm good with my hands; aye can fix just about anythin'. And you make yer pretty bonnets. We could move to a nice li'll town, Lambton maybe, set up shop. Turn a nice profit. We'll start a fam'ly of our own, and aye'll be the best father there ever was, you jus' wait'n see."

She listened to his confession and the pronouncement of his intentions with a patient smile on her face. "Andrew, I know from where you come and what your family does, and I could care a lick. I should be happy to work so honestly alongside you, to meet your family, and I'd be very much honored to be your...your wife." She blushed. Again. Then she looked at him with brown eyes shining with adoration. "I love you."

He grinned, eyes searching her face. "Aye love you too, Clara." They made to kiss once more, but were interrupted by a low whistle. Andrew recognized it as the driver warning them to come along. He sighed. "Come ta me t'night?" he implored softly.

She laughed low and shook her head. "Impulsive man! Just as I said! Of course I cannot. Tonight I sleep on the cot in her room. We would be fools to risk it. For even should she fail to wake and catch us, that hairy-moled devil nurse surely would." He jut his lower lip out in a pout and she giggled again. "Pray, do not sulk so. And put me down, lout. Though your Derbyshire dream is lovely, we should just as soon keep our employment for now. More money saved is all the more comfort for us when the time comes." She kissed him briefly, a peck. "And for our children."

Letting her slide down his body, he grumbled something about "dragon ladies," then caught her hand as she walked away. "Meet me in the yell'o parlor when we get back. That night, af'ta everyone is abed. No! Better still – in the middle o' the day!"

She gasped and his grin widened. "Andrew Plaskett, you _are_ too rash!" she laughed. "The scullery, two of the guest bedrooms and next a parlor? At midday?"

His eyes darkened. "Indeed, li'll dove. Haven't aye told you my intentions? When aye finally takes you 'ome with me…" He pulled her to him again, crushing her against his chest. She sighed against his lips, then again when his hands moved to cup her backside. "When that day comes...we will've christened ev'ry room in ole Chadwicke's house!"

Her eyes widened. "Andrew!"

They heard the low whistle again. His playful grin returning, he let her go. "Yes, dove; ev'ry room! And we'll save 'er royal highness's bed for last! Maybe even let 'er catch us. Let yer Miss Drag'n Princess Chadwicke cherish _that_!"

* * *

_London, a few days earlier_

If there was anything Lady Miriam knew, it was that life held few pure pleasures for a woman. But one of them was most certainly the well-toned backside of a lusty youth.

She sighed appreciatively, nudging her companion on one flawless cheek with her toe. He turned around to cast a cheeky grin at her from over his shoulder. "That is _mine_, mi'lady." Finding the breeches he had been fishing for, he stood up to leg them on.

She shot him a sultry glance. "So is that instrument which you have on the opposing side. And yet you shared it with me _most_ eagerly."

He grinned. "Aye; that is true. And I will share again, whenever my lady is inclined to ask."

He winked, buttoning his breeches, and turned to search for his linen shirt. She sighed, pulling herself up to sit against the pillows. As she did, the sheet covering her slid down to her naked navel. She didn't bother covering back up. "How I wish it could be so. But I am afraid this will be the last of these happy meetings for some time, darling. 'Tis imperative I appear on my best behavior these days. James can have no reason to suspect me of infidelity."

Her companion snorted. "I am loathe to tell you, mi'lady, but I believe the cat is already out of the bag on that score."

She shot him a resentful look. "I meant no reason from hence forth, you insolent dolt. Just until I get what it is I want from him."

He raised an eyebrow, throwing his shirt over his head. "Which is?"

She waved him off. "None of your damned business."

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Very well. A wife playing her husband for a fool to get her heart's desire. Ah, the familiar melody. 'Tis almost soothing to me, so long as I am not in the marriage state. It shall be a long time till I put my head in _that_ noose, to be sure."

"You are the second son; of course you shall have to wait. No one will want you."

His eyebrows drew together resentfully. "Bitch," he spat.

Her smile was positively feline. "Indeed. Now put your boots on, and get out."

A few nights later, Lady Miriam found herself pausing at the door to her husband's bedchamber. She swallowed back the bile already rising in her throat and knocked. Sir Chadwicke's valet cracked the door open. His eyes widened in surprise upon seeing his mistress at his master's bedroom door. Behind him, Sir Chadwicke called out, "Who is it, Abel?"

Lady Miriam fought the urge to rudely swing the door open and answer the question herself. But she would be everything solicitous and charming in a wife tonight. The valet answered that it was the mistress, and Miriam heard James's grunt of disapproval. "Well, show her in, I suppose," he muttered.

Miriam rolled her eyes. _Ungrateful, limp-sausaged whelp. You will be begging me to stay when I am through with you. _Once inside, she turned to the valet. "You are dismissed," she said demurely. The man bowed and was gone.

Sir Chadwicke stood before her in all his sleeves and breeches-clad, rotund glory, clearly out of sorts. "What can you mean by being so imperious, Miriam? I had not yet finished with him!"

She gave an elegant shrug of her delicate shoulders. "I had thought _I_ could help you with whatever work is left."

"_You?"_ He scoffed. "Grand; the spoilt gentlewoman who would not dirty her hands cutting a rose from her own garden means to act as my valet. Of what use could you possibly be? No, send Abel back in, and off with you."

She bit back her retort that _his_ delicate hands had not been raised to a productive task since they drew up the hem of her nightgown to conceive their child. Instead, she simply smiled sweetly, offering a feminine, tinkling laugh. "How difficult can it be, James? I simply…_undress_ you. Do I not?" She sauntered forward, curvy hips swaying in subtle sensuality, and laid tantalizing hands on his chest.

He rolled his eyes. "Miriam." His voice carried the harsh tone it always took on when he spoke to her but she was sure there was something else there too. Oh, yes indeed. This might be even easier than she had thought. How long had it been since he had had a woman? He could be needy in minutes.

She let her hands move from his chest to over his shoulders and arms, sliding up and down. "Such big shoulders, James," she said. Her voice was not coy or seductive. He would become suspicious of that immediately. So instead she spoke it as an observation, albeit tinged with longing. "I always feel so _small_ when in a room with you. And these hands." She slid her hands down to his and took them. Laughing melodiously again, she looked at him with girlishly gleaming eyes. "Why, look at how they _swallow_ mine! So very large. I suppose it is a good thing you never hold _my_ hand anymore; I might lose it in there, and never get it back."

For the first time since she had entered the room (or maybe even in years), he cracked a small smile at her. "Well, you have inordinately small hands, Miriam."

She smiled up at him in response, and then her smile turned sad. "Have you heard about Daniel Trask?"

She saw his guard slip a bit as he sighed and nodded. "Yes. Bloody tragic. They say his heart seized."

She shook her head, her gaze far away. "He had simply sat down to break his fast with his family. One minute he was alive and well, and next he was gone. Vera is beside herself. Imagine; waking up one morning a wife, safe in knowing the love of a good man. Then to see the next dawn a _widow_. With no warning. How cruel, how unexpected."

He looked at her curiously. Her hands began sliding again. Up his arms, across his shoulders, his back. When they landed on his lower back, she held them there. His belly was so fat that when her first tear fell, he saw it dot his shirt where it pushed out below her chin, spreading in a small stain. "Miriam?" he asked, aghast.

She shook her head, tears falling freely now. "How blind I have been, James! I am so sorry. So sorry!" She wrapped her arms around him, crying into his fleshy chest. It was an alarming minute or two until she felt his arms tentatively hold her as well.

"Uh…there, there," he said uninspiredly, patting her on the back like a child. "Right. That is all good and well, now. No tears, my girl."

She drew her face up to kiss his neck. He gasped. She kissed his jaw from one ear to another, then spattered kisses across his face. Her hands were everywhere, suddenly inflamed with need. "Miriam!" he said against her lips as she pressed them to his greedily.

She drew back. "I am so sorry to behave so wantonly. I just…I am…so sorry!" She drew his head back down to hers again, then worked to unbutton his breeches. She took a step back, facing her panting, red-faced husband, and discarded her robe, then her nightgown.

His eyes widened. "Oh, my dear," he said, licking his lips.

When she went down on her knees before him, it was all he could do not to bay like a hound dog.

_Later_.

Sir Chadwicke lay prone on his back, his wife wrapped round his body, his face sporting an ebullient beam. She looked up at him with a smile. "Oh my, James. You _have_ still got it."

He laughed bawdily, his blubber vibrating against her breasts. "Yes, well…" He shrugged, looking self-satisfied. She waited for him to repay the compliment and when he didn't she kept her smile plastered on her face despite her resentment. The fact was, she had done all the work. If she hadn't straddled him, she would have suffocated beneath all that chafing, jiggling flesh, if he managed to find the right hole at all. She fought a wave of longing. She almost would have rather died than been so _very_ conscious throughout the whole revolting experience.

She sighed, tracing a finger down his chest, playing with the hairs there. "Am I forgiven, James? I have been so very naughty, I know."

He nodded, considering. "Yes, well…I suppose you have not acted alone in that."

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. He was right, of course; she would not have wandered without the aid of his significant indifference and contempt. But it was surprising to hear him admit it. The gesture was big, coming from James.

He scratched his jaw casually. "Yes, I believe that is true," he seemed to decide, giving a nod. "We have, the both of us, not been on the same side for quite some time. Not since…"

There, he stopped. He did not need to say anymore; she knew what he was referring to.

Instantly, a knot welled in her throat, and she swallowed it. He had hit on the only tender spot she had in her heart. They were both quiet for a while, lost in recollection. There are times when two people, no matter how far removed from each other's affection, can share the same mind, the same unspoken bond over the one thing they ever had in common. This was such a time.

"His birthday was last week," she finally spoke.

"I know," he answered quietly.

She quirked an eyebrow. "I went to see him. I laid flowers on the grave."

"Did you?" He looked at her with interest.

She nodded, a small, sad smile on her face. "A toy rattler as well, even though I know it shall be picked up by the first grave robber or street peddler to see it. I do so every year. I…give something from you as well."

"You _do?" _His voice was incredulous, and not a little…touched.

She cleared her throat, uncomfortable with exhibiting true vulnerability. "Yes, well…. I would have him know about all the love that was his. Not only mine. To do otherwise feels selfish."

Surprised, he hugged her closer. "That is very good of you, Miriam." It sounded as if he meant it.

She chuckled ironically. "I have _some_ goodness, I suppose." They shared a smile. Hers faded. "I paid my respects to _them_ as well. Left her pansies. Her favorite." She bit her lip, her vision becoming obscured through a thick cloud of tears.

He was silent for a moment, watching her. "She was a very good friend to you," he finally said, softly.

She swallowed. "The best." They again lapsed into silence. Then, wiping the genuine tears from the corners of her eyes, she cleared her throat once more. That was enough of that. Back to what was comfortable, what she came here for. Artifice.

Looking at him tenderly, she said, "She loved Horace so very much. She was all that is devoted in a wife and mother. I have never been such. And yet, I would like to try, James. I should so like to do better by you and Josie. Let us do better together. Let us…start over?"

She cupped his cheek, kissing him. It made her want to vomit, but Miriam Chadwicke had nothing if not a strong stomach. He gazed at her with blossoming affection. "I believe I should like that very much too, Miriam."

She smiled, kissing him again. Then, coyly, she asked, "How much is _very_ much, James?" Slipping her hand under the sheet and over his grossly swollen belly, she felt for his member, stroking it awake. When he was ready, she drew herself up, sinking onto him with an exaggerated moan of pleasure. He groaned, his face already showing him half-gone.

"James?" she said in a breathless voice as she gyrated over him.

"Yes?" he ground out through gritted teeth.

She touched herself, knowing how it would affect him, and moaned. "Mmm…I think we should discuss a matter…about Josephine."

* * *

_London, about a month later_

"Oh, I am so nervous!" Georgiana exclaimed as the Darcys' coach rode over the cobblestone streets of London, heading in the direction of their home.

Elizabeth laughed. "Pray, have I missed something? Are not we approaching _your_ house? Or has the king of England taken up residence since last we were here, that you should be such a wreck to arrive at your own home?"

Georgiana's gaze remained fixed on the view outside. "How very silly of me, I know. It is only there are such expectations for me this Season. Always before, I would reside happily at home, only occasionally suffering those events William deemed appropriate. Now I am to be out in society more often. I hardly know how I shall bear the attention."

"Georgiana, dearest," said Darcy from the seat across from her, "it is not yet your coming out Season. We mean only to effect a small increase in your exposure to society, and it to you. It shall smooth the path next year, I assure you. You will be grateful for it then."

Georgiana nodded dutifully, swallowing. Elizabeth shot her husband a mildly reproachful look. Sometimes he was about as sensitive as a butcher. Smiling, she took her sister's hand. "It is, however, _my_ first Season in London. Think how very nervous I shall be! It will be of great comfort to me to have you by my side. We will steady each other, yes?"

She squeezed Georgiana's hand, and was rewarded with a strong squeeze in return. "Yes," agreed Georgiana stoutly. "Yes! We shall go into battle together, Lizzy. Two lone soldiers facing the horde of society's blood-thirstiest collection of chin-wagging vampyres!"

Elizabeth chuckled, firing back energetically, "The masses of evil assembled to pick apart our goodness into broken bits of disillusioned hopes and bleeding dreams! A conspiracy of plotters meant to break our hearts and spirits and thrust us from their glorified presence into the abyss of social exile! But they shall not prevail! Shall they, my dear?"

"Oh, no," answered Georgiana gravely. "For what is evil in the face of goodness? And too, should all else fail – you can simply hold another party and push the lot of them through the ice! No coats this time!"

The two laughed and Elizabeth swatted the younger girl. "Unkind! I did not do so intentionally last time. Mischievous girl."

Darcy, listening to the exchange, shook his head. "The two most intelligent women in my life, and yet they read altogether far too many gothic novels. Vampyres, Georgiana? Clearly someone has been exposing you to some rather unsuitable reading material." He aimed a pointed glance at Elizabeth. She made a face at him.

Georgiana shrugged. "So long as there is a fair amount of Dante and Bunyan in the mix I do believe I am absolved of any sin-by-literature."

Elizabeth gazed at her fondly. It always did her heart good to see the girl tease her imperious brother. She risked a glance at said imperious brother, but he was gazing outside. She looked away just as his eyes flicked her way for a moment and warmed. She could not know how grateful he would always be for her talent of bringing Georgiana comfort, no matter the cost to his pride. Lord knows he never knew how to handle the emotional adolescent girl. Mostly he knew about as much about all those _feelings_ she had as he did about the _how_ and _why_ of feminine apertures erupting into gruesome geysers of bleeding infertility every month out of the year; nothing. And happy to keep it that way.

They arrived at Darcy House to an assemblage of servants waiting to welcome them. Once inside, Georgiana rushed into the arms of Mrs. Annesley, her companion. The two had been separated when Mrs. Annesley had taken leave to spend the Christmas season with her son and grandchildren in London and then stayed on much longer than anticipated when members of the family took ill. When at last they recovered, it was decided that Mrs. Annesley would await the party's imminent arrival into Town rather than make an untimely trek to Pemberley. Georgiana was very close to her companion, the woman having been of great comfort in the painful months following her near-elopement by that notorious seducer of virgins, Wickham. Now, in the face of a nerve-wracking Season, she was happier than ever to have her comfort. Introductions were made between the new Mrs. Darcy and the prestigious servant, then Mr. and Mrs. Darcy repaired to their chamber to rest and give the two a chance to catch up.

The rest of the day passed away in peace, the travelers largely worn out. By the next day they felt a great deal more rested and ready to face the onslaught of civilized society. Mrs. Darcy sat comfortably in a chair in Mr. Darcy's study, her feet tucked under her, her hands full of the invitations he kept passing her way. She loved moments like these, when he showed no hesitation whatsoever to let her into his place of business; the place where her attentive lover transformed into a severe, sometimes unrecognizable man of great responsibility. They were sifting through the invitations together, Darcy explaining to her who certain people were and whether or not there was the slimmest chance they would be going to any of their events. She had been astonished to see the stack of lovely engraved envelopes waiting for them when they sat down. Yes, the Season had been underway for over a month now, but _goodness;_ were they so popular?

_Very likely not popular at all,_ she thought cynically. _Just fodder for gossip._

Upon retrieving a small calling card from the stack, she was surprised at the identity of the caller. Darcy glanced at her distractedly when she fell quiet. "Who is that one from?" he mumbled as he surveyed the invitation in his own hand.

She looked at him, an incredulous look upon her face. "Would you believe it? 'Tis from Lady Radcliffe. She came to call and is desirous I should return the gesture when next I have the opportunity."

Her husband simply shrugged. "You made a rather favorable impression upon her at Pemberley. Or hadn't you noticed?"

She chewed her lip pensively. "I noted it, of course. I was at a loss for explaining it even then. I had thought it was a kindness to me for saving Teddy. I never thought the acquaintance would carry over to Town. She is a very great lady, is she not?"

He sat back in his chair, his fingers cradling his chin. "Indeed," was all he said.

Her shoulders slumped and she rolled her eyes. "A great amount of help you are," she scolded. "Have we not been working on your pre-historic one and two syllabic answers? I thought we had arrived at a point of one and two sentences at the least." She sighed, shaking her head. "I suppose I am to start all over on you. But patience is a virtue."

He gave a close-lipped, indulgent smile. "My wife, the saint."

She tilted her head in wearisome agreement. "Thrice a saint when my work is done," she muttered. Cutting an arch glance at him through thick lashes, she returned his smile. Taking her hand, he kissed it and held it in his own, then turned their attention back to the invitations.

That night, the Darcys received their first guests in the form of their favorite people in the world aside from each other.

"Jane!" Elizabeth exclaimed, pulling her sister in for a crushing hug.

"Lizzy!" Jane returned, holding her firmly. "Oh, Lizzy, how I have missed you!"

As tears sprang to the eyes of the two ecstatic women, Darcy and Bingley stood opposite each other at a respectable distance. "Bingley," Darcy nodded.

"Darcy," Bingley responded.

The ladies continued to hold each other and rhapsodize about their excitement, their husbands looking on awkwardly. But as he watched the display, Bingley's expression grew slightly wistful. He glanced at Darcy, who glanced at him. Darcy shook his head perceptibly, putting defensive hands up, but a grinning Bingley ignored it, stepped forward and pulled his friend in for a hug. Darcy rolled his eyes, his arms pin-straight at his sides.

When Bingley stepped back and clapped him on the back, Darcy raised an eyebrow. "Without any prior knowledge of it, I could have yet gathered you are just returned from Ireland. You have forgotten how to be British."

Bingley just laughed happily, truly glad to be reunited with his surly friend. Still beaming, Jane finally released Lizzy and stepped back to take her husband's arm. "Not _just_ returned," Bingley said, looking fondly at Jane. "We have been in Town these three weeks. Awaiting your arrival with bated breaths. My dear Jane has thought of nothing else but this night."

Lizzy, taking her own husband's arm, effused, "Nor have I!"

Darcy shook his head as he led the party to the dining room. "I have a feeling, Bingley, we are both soon to be utterly and hastily replaced in our wife's affections."

The women protested laughingly as they entered the dining room, where Georgiana stood shyly. She needn't have been shy though, for Jane in all her disarming sweetness hugged her and greeted her with warmth, as did Bingley (though he forwent the hug this time). Dinner commenced in the liveliest manner. There was much to catch up on for the company of old friends.

"Jane, do tell me about Ireland!" Elizabeth implored. "I want to hear all about it. I must admit I would be so very envious had it been anyone less deserving who had had such fortune. But as it is, I want only for details, for my happiness for you is complete!"

Jane, sitting across from her, answered, "I should hardly know where to start! It is...simply...majestic! I can find no other word for it! Such sights to behold, such a wild quality to the moors and mountains; lush beauty as I have never before beheld! You, Lizzy, would find no end of pleasure in the beauty alone, never mind the diversion and the..." Here, she blushed. "...the castle."

Elizabeth and Georgiana both fought back a squeal. They had known, of course, through her correspondence that Bingley had whisked his new bride off to a castle in Ireland, but to hear it from her mouth was quite different.

"Oh, Jane!" enthused Georgiana. "How very romantic! Was it lovely, the castle? Imagine, a castle amidst the wild moors of Ireland. The very idea strikes me as almost whimsical!"

Jane's blush deepened. ""Twas very lovely, Georgiana, yes."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. She could only guess just how lovely it had been for the newlyweds. Had Darcy whisked her off to a fairytale palace in the middle of the most naturally beautiful place on earth, she would have made him a _very_ happy man for it. She looked at Bingley. He was positively glowing. Her point exactly.

Darcy seemed to bristle a bit at the conversation, almost as if he could hear the direction his wife's thoughts tended to. "Yes, well," he said brusquely, "having roots in Ireland did, I imagine, make it all the more easy to acquire a lease on such a luxury. Eh, Bingley?"

Elizabeth shot a look his way. He read it well. It said, _behave._ He smirked.

Good-natured Bingley, however, only grinned. He was first, used to Darcy's glowering, and second, well aware that he had provided a more romantic (and _extended_) honeymoon period for his wife than had Darcy for his. He all but preened. "Indeed, it did, Darce. In fact, it made it all the more special for Jane and I, to share in seeing where my mother's people come from." His expression sobered a bit. "However, my father was English, through and through."

Darcy merely took a bite of his pork, raising his eyebrows.

"He was!" Bingley insisted. He turned to Georgiana. "He really was," he said again, worried blue eyes shining brightly beneath a head of blazing hair.

Georgiana giggled. "I believe you, Mr. Bingley."

Bingley smiled and looked to Darcy. "You see? The _nice_ Darcy believes me." To that, Darcy only chuckled and shook his head.

Lizzy, chuckling as well, thought to change the subject by inquiring after how they had escaped the pleasurable company of Miss Bingley and the Hursts for the night. She was careful to put the question to the Bingleys as delicately as possible (for "thank God your harpy sisters and drunken potato sack of a brother could not join us tonight! However did you manage to ditch them?" would not have sufficed for politeness).

Jane immediately took her sister's meaning nevertheless and gave a knowing, tranquil smile. "Another episode of gout for Mr. Hurst, I am afraid. Poor man. How it troubles him."

Elizabeth was confused. The loathsome trio had been unable to come to her ball for the same reason, much, she was sure, to Caroline Bingley's displeasure. With her brother out of the country and her sister's husband too indisposed to travel, she had been stuck at home with nothing but a black, angry cloud to keep her company. But how that should affect her opportunity to hoist herself upon her kindhearted brother back from Ireland was a puzzle. Again, she phrased such a question delicately, earning another sagely glance from Jane (dear, dear Jane).

"I meant to say," Jane clarified sweetly, "that they are yet sequestered at Netherfield. The jostling of a carriage, the hardy demands of travel, are too hard on poor Mr. Hurst at the moment. We had thought to collect darling Caroline upon our return to England, but Hertfordshire was so very far from port, and the Hursts had assured us by correspondence he would be fit for travel soon enough. Of course, that was three weeks ago. Had we known then it would be so very long, we certainly would have come round for her." She smiled demurely. But Lizzy knew her sister well enough to see the very, _very _slight sarcasm beneath the surface.

She took a sip of her wine. "Indeed," she said innocently, eyes sparkling.

The two women shared a look and a grin, and conversation progressed to how the couple had been entertaining themselves in the meantime. "The theatre, of course," recounted Bingley. "Dash it all if they have not staged the most rousing production of _Hamlet_ I have yet seen! You really ought to see it, Darcy. It might make an impression on even your distinguishing tastes."

Darcy nodded. "Noted."

Bingley rambled on about the other activities he and Jane had engaged in. "….a few soirees as well, and a dinner here or there with old friends. And new."

Jane's eyes lit up with recognition. "Oh yes, that reminds me. Only last night we had dinner with friends of yours, Lizzy. I had nearly forgotten, they asked me to pass along their sentiments."

Lizzy's brow crinkled. "I am sure I cannot know who you mean."

Jane chuckled. "My clever Lizzy, can you not guess?"

Lizzy shook her head, confused. Jane smiled serenely. "Why, the Chadwickes, of course!"

* * *

**A/N:** Uh-oh. Lots to consider, some of it maybe obscure for right now. Everything will make sense as the story unfolds. As always, thanks for reading! :) _*Update, 9/7: The review issue has been fixed! I don't know how, but members can now post their reviews for this chapter! Yay! So if you feel like leaving one, go ahead. Otherwise, see ya next time! Btw, if you received a notification of a chapter 22, **there isn't one**. Long story, lol. :)* _


End file.
